Afraid of the light
by hazelmom
Summary: A post Unbearable fic. Sara buries herself in a case that threatens to destroy her, and the man who hurt her may never be able to reach her again. Eventual GSR. Shameless WAT tie-in. Final chapter! Complete story!
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, inc.

Spoiler: Unbearable

I was so ready to focus on schoolwork, and then I watched CSI last night. Wow! They really know how to mess with a person's head. I was seriously depressed. This is the only therapy I can think of. So I am back at work on this. I will post a chapter every 2-3 days until I finish this or get tired of being jerked around by the producers of the show. This fic will reflect my own feelings of frustration. And believe me, Sara will be no doormat. And Grissom will have to wake up or get out. Having said, there will be definite GSR angst. Also, pulling in a shameless Without a Trace tie-in. Just 'cause I feel like it. Why should I play with rules if they don't.

**Afraid of the Light**

**Chapter 1**

Grissom felt something odd when he walked into the lab. He got smiles from people; smiles that might be better described as leers. He responded with severe looks. For reasons unknown to him, his colleagues were assuming a familiarity with him that he fully intended to discourage.

He retreated to his office. It was his refuge from the chaos of a busy lab. Only three days away and mail was already piled on his desk. He settled in, turned on only the light on the desk, and began pulling up e-mail and sifting through letters. A couple of other overly bright smiles peered in his office, and one terribly annoying wink from David Hodges. Grissom had a feeling in his gut that he couldn't identify. He tried to shoo it away as if a pesky insect, but it wouldn't budge.

A knock interrupted his reverie, and he looked up. Catherine stood in the doorway, a smile plastered on her face. "Have a nice time in Palm Springs, Gil?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What's going on, Catherine?"

She shrugged. "Just wanted to know how your trip was?"

"Why? What's going on around here?"

She folded her arms and regarded him for a moment. "Okay. Here goes. A couple of hours after you left last Friday, we had a body out in the desert, filled with your little friends, and we needed time of death. Bugwork, but no bugman. So Sara who is the designated nerd when you're not around got the kit together but couldn't find the right collecting jars—"

Grissom winced. "I forgot to order them."

"Well Sara thought that you had just put them elsewhere, and so she called, hoping to catch you before you got on the plane."

"I didn't get a phone call, Catherine."

"I think you were probably in the bathroom or something when Sofia picked up your phone and answered it." Catherine paused for a moment to let this sink in. "And she was helpful. Offered to have you call as soon as you returned. I'm sure she picked it up because she thought it was her phone. Your cells probably look alike. Although, your cell shows the caller by name, and so it's funny that she didn't notice the name Sara on your phone before answering it."

Grissom closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. "So she told everyone in the lab I went to Palm Springs with Sofia."

She shook her head. "No, she didn't. Didn't talk to anyone about it. But Greg was there when it happened, and he, of course, said something to Nicky who said something to Warrick who said something to Jacqui who said something to me who…."

Grissom groaned. "Apparently, having a private life is too much to ask."

"Hey, you are the one with the girlfriend marking her territory."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Well, what do you call her?"

"None of your business."

She leaned against the doorframe and met his eyes.

"Is Sara okay?"

Catherine shrugged. "She and Brass have been pulling out all the stops on a case that came in Saturday morning. Pretty much worked straight through. I let her 'cause we were short handed with you and Sofia gone. Teen-age girl dead. Tortured. Been missing the last three weeks."

Grissom was up and leaning across the table. "And it made sense for you to let her work straight through on an abuse case involving a young girl."

Catherine smiled a little and shook her head. "Why? She's your project. I'm hands off. Remember. She's all yours. Been that way ever since you and Ecklie faced off two months ago. I have no idea what's going on with her. Neither of you has deigned to fill me in on anything."

"There are issues that you are not aware of."

"Clearly."

"Where are they?"

"Interrogation room A."

Grissom brushed past her. Catherine turned to watch him go. "Hey Gil."

He stopped.

"You know, she and I barely talk these days, and yet I feel like I have more respect for her than you do sometimes."

He furled her brows at her as if trying to understand, but just shook his head and walked off.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

Sara stared at the dapper man seated at the table. He was alone in the room, sitting up, his hands palm down on the table. She was stared at him through the mirror with amazement. Such a mild man, balding, small, wearing wire rimmed glasses and dressed in a grey suit. Brass had left him in there for 45 minutes, and he hadn't moved. She found this remarkable. Suspects were restless people. They paced and fidgeted and talked to themselves. But this man sat quietly as if meditating in his own home.

Hatfield Corcoran, 47, was an accountant in Vegas. Moved there 9 months earlier. Clean record. No complaints of any kind, but within minutes of running his name through CODIS, an FBI alert had flashed, and now she was waiting for Brass to get back from the airport with an agent from New York.

She wanted to go in, and start an interview, but Brass was clear. She wanted to ask him about burning the girl's hands and cutting her all over. She wanted to know how he could stand her screams, begging for her life. She knew that he took his time, days even, bringing her back from unconsciousness, and then hurting her more. She wanted to understand the mind of a killer like him. She wanted to know what drove people to enjoy the pain of others. It would explain so much about her own life if she only had more insight into this need to control and inflict pain.

The door opened behind her, and Grissom filled the space. Sara sucked in her breath. She had hoped he wasn't coming back today. Actually wished that he and Sofia had stayed longer. She was not interested in dealing with him and the feelings that had so long held her hostage. Losing herself in a case had always been her best defense against this.

"Hey, Sara. How are you doing?"

"Tough case, Grissom." Self consciously, she smoothed her shirt, and ran a hand through her hair. It wouldn't help to look like she hadn't slept in two days.

"I heard. Hitting a little close to home?"

She tensed. The man runs off for a weekend with the lab's resident Vulcan, and he expects her to be vulnerable with him.

"Sara, I want to apologize—"

She put a hand up. "No need."

"I really want us to talk."

She shook her head. "Not now. I'm in the middle of something big."

"You look tired. How long have you been here?"

"Boy, you just don't stop, do you?"

"I think you need to go home and sleep. I can take over from here. I'll get the case file from Jim."

"Over my dead body." Her voice was a low whisper.

"Sara, you promised me that you would back off if I felt like a case was affecting you."

"That promise was not made for cases like this."

He stepped forward, and she backed into the wall. "You're angry with me." He said.

Her eyes reddened, and she took a deep breath. "When am I not, Grissom?"

He spoke in a voice laced with a frustration she had never heard in him before. "I never know what to do about you."

"As soon as this case is done, I'm gone. I promise you. You will never have to think about sad, angry Sara again."

"That's not what…I don't want that." He stood awkwardly in front of her, glasses in hand, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"It's too late for it to be anything else." She looked down at her feet. "Grissom, don't take this case away. I need this last case. Please."

A heavy silence fell between them. He finally spoke. "Then I'm working it with you."

She shrugged and turned back to the man in the mirror.

"This is our suspect?"

Without turning, she said. "File is on my desk."

He hesitated, unsure of what to do or say next. She stayed glued to the mirror. Finally he turned and left.


	2. chapter 2

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, inc.

Spoiler: Unbearable.

I am still fired up. Thus comes chapter 2. I will not be able to keep up this pace as I have neglected too many things in an effort to keep previous stories updated. I will probably be able to post again in a couple of days or so. I will stay as consistent as possible.

I introduce Danny Taylor into this fic. It is an unconventional move, but I am feeling the need to go vigilante on Grissom. He is from Without a Trace. I am only recently familiar with that show, but am taken with his presence. He has a sort of gangly, bedhead, smoldering intensity, private but slightly goofy kind of guy who is a joy to watch on the screen. He tends to get overshadowed by the Jack/Sam/Martin dynamic so I left them back in New York giving each other meaningful looks. I think he can add something unsettling for Grissom and something soothing for Sara. Give him a shot. I think he's worth it.

Sheila

**Afraid of The Light**

**Chapter 2**

The man with Brass had sleepy eyes. Sara knew that he had just gotten off a red eye from New York and was probably exhausted, but there was something about the eyes that drew her in.

"Agent Taylor, Danny Taylor." His handshake was strong, and he gave her a slightly goofy smile, a lock of hair stood up on the back of his head.

"Agent…I mean, CSI Sidle or Sara. Just call me Sara." She did her best to match his grip.

"All right, so now we all know one another," growled Brass. "How are we going to go at him?"

"We've been tracking him three years. Four girls have gone missing that we think are linked to Corcoran. But we can only get so far. He's cool as a block of ice in the summer sun."

"A serial killer?"

Danny looked up to see a man with graying curls approach. Brass extended an arm. "Gil Grissom, Vegas Crime Lab, this is Agent Danny Taylor, FBI Missing Persons."

Grissom shook his hand. "What is Missing Persons doing on a serial murder case?"

Danny smile spread. "Ah, the sweet sound of jurisdictional suspicion. We have been tracking him because of the missing girls. My boss, Jack Malone, made the connections. We haven't gotten our profiler brothers and sisters to buy into him yet. They are not convinced of the connections."

"You have four missing girls?"

"They were missing. All recovered. All dead. Tortured. Cut. Strangled. Burned. We didn't start working on this until the 3rd girl. He kept her alive almost two weeks before he killed her. We recovered her within 48 hours of her death. The fourth one he kept for almost a month. After each girl, he moves away, starts a new life in a new city, and then 6-9 months later, another girl turns up missing."

"All of them teen-agers?"

"No. The first one was a woman in her late twenties. The fourth one was a woman in her early twenties. The rest have been under twenty."

"What ties them together other than the crime scene?"

"All of them had contact with him within a week of their disappearance. He doesn't try to hide it; is open about it, in fact. Nor does he try to explain it."

"Forensics?"

"Complete bust. We have never been able to match a fiber, a print, DNA, nothing."

"On the fifth girl." He turned his attention to Sara.

"Everything is at the lab. Greg put his white coat back on special for this case."

Grissom smiled. "Well, then it's good he brought his game to Vegas."

"Yeah, I am well aware of your reputation, Mr. Grissom. This is the fifth girl. He's done. I'm here to make sure." Danny's sleepy eyes belayed a surprising intensity.

"Have you interviewed him before?" Brass asked.

"Yeah. Once."

"What do you suggest?"

"You go in. Sara too. She is the only one that has a chance of getting him going. I want to watch it."

"What do you mean?" Grissom glared.

"She's his type. Pretty brunette. Looks like a young girl. It might rattle him."

"Nope. Let's move on to plan B."

Sara stared at Grissom, her mouth open. Brass put a hand on her arm. Danny observed the growing tension coolly.

"I'm going in." Sara locked stares with Grissom.

"A target. You think this is a good idea?"

"Well, you'll be right outside the door in case I need anything…you know, like if my shoe is untied or if I need somebody to blow my nose."

Brass stepped in and faced him. "Gil, I got her. He can't do anything to her."

Brass took her by the arm, and they moved over to the corner, and talked for a while.

Danny stood next to Grissom with an enigmatic smile tugging at one end of his mouth.

"We're ready." Brass announced and the two of them disappeared into the room.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

"Hello, Mr. Corcoran, my name is Captain Jim Brass, homicide, and this is Criminalist, Sara Sidle." He stopped his introductions and cocked his head. "So what do people call a guy named Hatfield anyway?"

Corcoran didn't move a muscle. Sara was transfixed by how pale his blue eyes were. "Hatfield is just fine. An old family name. Very proud to wear it."

"Hatfield, you seem to have a thing for killing girls, and you like to watch them suffer. Where I come from we consider this to be bad form."

Hatfield let one end of his mouth curl up slightly. Sara noted that his hands stayed relaxed on the table.

"Do you like it when they scream, Hatfield?" She locked eyes with him.

He stared at her intently and then sniffed the air. "You don't wear cologne, just plain body soap. No manicure. Your use of make-up is cursory. Your skin needs lotion. Your lips are dry and you are approximately 7 lbs. underweight for your height."

She blinked at his blunt assessment.

"All right, Hatfield. Enough of the Killer Eye for the Straight Girl. We have some questions for you." Brass tried to get his attention again.

Hatfield stayed transfixed on Sara. "You're a fighter. You challenge me with your eyes. Bright eyes. Intelligent. Intense. But soft, compassionate. Isn't hard to be so fierce and so sensitive all at the same time?"

Brass slammed his hand down on the table hard. Sara jumped. Hatfield merely turned his head toward Brass. "Sara can kick your ass any day of the week. I'd put my retirement on it."

Hatfield breathed in deeply. "Then why bother a small, weak man such as myself?"

Brass leaned forward. "Because most women aren't prepared for a ruthless animal walking around in polyester with a pocket protector. You're dead. I see it in your eyes. You live to harm and nothing more."

His mouth curled up again. "And I can promise you 34 more tax relief than the average accountant."

"Tell me about them." Sara caught his attention again. "Why them? Were they rude to you? Did you like their hair? I'm curious."

"You have a lot of spirit, Sara. And demons. I sense that demons are strong in you."

"Stop it!" Sara was on her feet. "I am a person not a specimen!"

"Your eyes dance when you are angry. What do they do when you are terrified?"

"Okay, Sparky, that's enough!" Brass had the man by the collar now, his hands trembling as he fought against smashing the mild face into the table. Hatfield hung limp in his grip. "Clearly, you are no company for women."

The man spoke quietly. "I only talk if she's here."

Sara dropped back into her chair. "Then talk, Hatfield. I'm ready."

Brass lowered him back into his chair. "You question me, and then I question you. Fair deal."

Sara shook her head. "Hatfield, I'm simple people. You're not going to find anything of interest in me."

"You're driven to do this work. Just as I am driven to do…other things. I think we could learn so much from one another."

"Why did you hurt those girls?"

"Where did you grow up? Tell me about your family."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"You get her out of there or I do." Grissom hissed at Taylor.

Danny turned his head slightly. "He didn't say more than two words in the three interviews that Malone did with him. She seems fine to me."

"I don't know where you come from, but here we don't use our people as bait."

"Hey, this is your house. Why aren't you breaking up the interview?" Danny gazed at Grissom out of the corner of his eye. "Is it because Sara with the flashing eyes would eviscerate you? Have no idea what you did, Brother, but she's got your number."

Grissom narrowed his eyes at Taylor. "This is my house, Taylor. Remember that."

……………………………………………………………………………………….

"You don't like to talk about your family. Why? You're not protecting them or I would feel a sense of defiance in you."

"Give me something first, Hatfield."

"I like girls who are naked to my eye."

"Nude?"

"No. Naked, Sara. Fearless, brilliant, hurting. Where have you been all my life?"

"Shut up, Hatfield."

"Tell me why your eyes dull when I ask about your family? Then I'll tell you something."

"My family is none of your—"

"Pinky swear, Sara."

Sara closed her eyes and began. "My mother killed my father when I was thirteen. I spent the rest of my childhood in foster care. I have no family. Can we please move on?"

"Lonely is the word that was missing for me. Thanks for illuminating me, Sara."

"Pinky swear, Hatfield."

"I like it when girls beg me for things. I like it when they submit."

"Is this a confession?"

"Of my sexual proclivities certainly."

"Did you kill Mary Ann Windom, Geneva Austin, Frederika Bing, Laticia Fairmont, and Ruth Lake?"

Hatfield stroked his chin eerily reminiscent of Grissom but without the beard. "Personally, I think they killed themselves. It would certainly explain your lack of viable suspects."

Sara slapped the table. "We had a deal!"

"Sara, I can't tell you what I don't know." He shook his head at her as if she was a recalcitrant child.

"Okay, Hatfield. That's enough for one day. Why don't we return you to that nice cell downstairs." Brass reached over and pulled Corcoran to his feet. He pushed him to the door with enough force to make Corcoran stumble. Corcoran stopped, straightened himself, and allowed Brass to cuff his hands. Then he calmly followed the deputy down the hall.

Sara sat down and dropped her face into her hands. Brass sat down beside her. Without looking up, she could sense Grissom's presence. He sat on the other side of her.

"It was a bust." She said into her hands.

"Hey, Sara," Danny said. "Look at me."

She raised her tired face.

"You did something. Please know that. We haven't even gotten a full sentence out of him in three interviews. It's a start."

"He looked at me like I was a butterfly pinned to an exhibit board. I don't think he ever saw me as a person."

"He's a bad one. And you did good." Brass pushed himself to his feet. "What day is it?"

"I don't think we've slept in…I don't remember how long. It's Tuesday, I think."

"You go home. I'll work the evidence." Grissom urged them both to their feet.

"Got a hotel, Danny?"

"Nope. Got any recommendations?"

"I know a guy at the Sands. Give him my card. Tell him Jim sent you."

Danny sauntered off after Brass.

Grissom caught her arm. "Sara."

"Grissom, I don't want to talk. Just let me go."

"I want to fix this."

"It's too late." Sara pulled her arm away and headed for the door.

"I didn't want to hurt you. You have always been such a risk. So intense. So much heart. It scares me. Sofia is—"

"Stop!" She spun around at the doorway and spat words. "You have no right. You chose. I found out about it. So now I choose. And if you care about me like you say you do, then you will thank God that I am finally awake to the reality that is you."

She turned and almost ran into Danny Taylor.

"Hey! Sorry to bug you, but Brass thought maybe…well, I didn't rent a car and he's on the phone with the sheriff, and you live a few miles past the Sands…And I can see that I caught you at a bad time."

Sara rubbed at her red eyes. "You want a ride, Danny? I'd be happy to take you."

"You're in the middle of something—"

She grabbed the bag he left on the floor beside his feet. "Are you coming?" She glared at him for a moment and then marched down the hallway, his bag in tow. Danny raised his brows and then bounded after her.

Grissom leaned against the wall rubbing his forehead, trying to keep a migraine at bay.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

He worked intently on the fiber analysis from the sweater of the last victim. They were tiny, and he suspected that they would be inconclusive. Still he worked meticulously on it, careful to catalog everything. He knew that this was the only thing she would accept from him. The migraine beat dully against the back of his head.he didn't medicate so that he would stay sharp, but the constant throbbingwas taking its toll.

A shadow passed over his hands and he smelled her perfume, a light, floral scent reminding him of lavender. Her blonde hair brushed his neck lightly as she leaned over his shoulder. "I thought I would check on you."

He stiffened slightly. "I'm working a case."

"I see." She moved past him and perched on the table beside him. "Can I help?"

"No." He said perfunctorily.

"Will I see you tonight?" The hair again, falling against her face like a silk screen. It was as soft as he had always imagined it to be.

"I don't think I'll be leaving here tonight. Big case." He returned his attention to the fabric of the sweater.

She pushed off the table. "Okay. See you later."

"Sofia." He stopped what he was doing and put down his tweezers. "Did you answer my cell phone when Sara called last Friday?"

She smiled. "I thought it might be an emergency from the lab."

"Really. You couldn't wait until I returned from the newsstand."

"Sorry."

"You saw Sara's name before you picked it up, didn't you?"

She considered his question. "Yes, I did."

"And you answered it anyway."

She nodded. "You weren't even out of the office two hours and she calls you. I knew it would piss her off to have me answer the phone. I also knew that your phone would stay quiet after that."

"I thought you understood how important my privacy is to me." He took off his glasses and faced her with the full intensity of an icy blue stare.

"I don't hide my life, Gil." She pulled her hair back and flipped it over one shoulder. "Besides, she's a big girl now. You have coddled her past the point of ridiculous."

"I didn't want her hurt."

"She can stand on her own two feet. The two of you have this bizarre symbiotic relationship that is horribly dysfunctional. She wants you, and you clearly don't want her, and this leaves you both frustrated. I end up being the new girlfriend trying to elbow her way past Sara to get a little of your time, and that doesn't work for me."

He raised a finger and pointed it at her. "Do not ever interfere with my relationship with Sara again. Do you understand?"

She stared back at him, shook her head, and then walked away.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

TBC


	3. chapter 3

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, inc.

Spoiler: Unbearable

I hope you are hanging in there. I am having some crazy fun with this. I have almost forgot the debacle of last Thursday night. Your reviews brighten my day tremendously. Thanks for taking the time.

Sheila

**Afraid of the Light**

**Chapter 3**

Sara woke up to the sun shining brightly in her face. It surprised her. The shades in her bedroom were heavy and always closed, necessary tools for a person working the night shift. She rolled and found the sheets to be stiff. The comforter smelled like laundry soap just like that time she went to the conference in Encino and stayed at the—"

She sat up straight, blinking, as her eyes adjusted to the impersonal walls of a hotel room. She looked around, and there was another bed, also unmade. The bathroom door opened and he walked out in his dress slacks, hair wet, and a sleeveless T, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He smelled clean, the steamy heat of the shower following behind him. He saw her sitting up and he smiled, revealing a foamy mouth.

"What in the hell happened?" She tried to settle her breathing.

He turned around and ducked back into the bathroom, returning seconds later without the toothbrush. "You were tired and you feel asleep. So I left you."

"How did I get up here?"

"Come on now, Sara. Think back. You brought me to The Sands, helped me check in, and then realized you locked your keys in the truck. Since it is a county vehicle, you wouldn't let me jimmy the lock. So we came up here, and called a locksmith. You were fried. I thought my office was the only place where people didn't sleep, but you make us look like slackers. So I told you to lie down, and said I would wait for the locksmith. When I came back, you were out. I shook you but you were dead to the world. And you were snoring. Loud, girl, loud."

Sara blushed, and narrowed her eyes at him.

"I figured you were too tired to drive even if I woke you so I put a blanket over you, and left you there."

"At least nobody knows." She rubbed her eyes.

"Yeah, about that. Your boss called a few hours ago. You didn't wake up so I took the call."

She dropped the hands from her face and stared at him.

He threw his arms up. "What! I thought maybe he had something."

"He thinks I slept with you?" Her voice was incredulous.

"No, no. I told him what happened. I have to admit that he was very grumpy about it. Told me to send you home immediately. I said you were too tired to make it home. So then he said he was on his way to come get you. You guys have some interesting boundaries here in Vegas. Your boss always dictate your life outside of work?"

She closed her eyes. "What happened next?"

"I told him to go suck an egg. Said you were just fine. Told him you would call the minute you woke up. He asked me which hotel I was at and so I lied and told him Caesar's Palace. You don't think he really went there, do you?"

"You sent him on a wild goose chase?"

He shrugged. "Maybe."

"He is Gil Grissom. People do not do this to him." She spoke slowly, trying to control the unidentified panic rising in her throat.

He cocked his head. "Maybe they should sometimes. It's no good for a man to be perched on a pedestal too long. They forget things standing up there; like what they can control and what they can't."

"You…don't know. You have only been here a few hours and already you think you have us figured out."

He smiled. "Occupational hazard, I guess."

"It's very complicated, Danny. There are layers." She got up and stretched.

"There are always layers. But the emotions at the surface often tell an interesting story, don't you agree?" Danny put his suit coat on. "This town know how to make a good Puerto Rican breakfast?"

"Manny's. Right off the strip."

He clapped his hands. "Fresh tortillas, black beans, eggs. Come on. I'm treating."

He turned to find her still standing where he left her.

"You want to shower first?"

She wore a puzzled look. Then shook her head and followed him out the door.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

Danny looked up from a plate of huevos rancheros. "Hey. Sorry to hear about your mom killing your dad. Must have been rough."

She blinked, a forkful of egg frozen inches from her mouth. She put her fork down. "Well, I had to tell him something. I didn't want him to share my real family with him."

Danny nodded. "Ah, I see. Makes sense. I was just asking 'cause I lost my parents at age 11. Car accident. It's hard growing up with strangers. Not often do I find someone who understands that."

She stared down at her plate. "Do you think it still lives in who you are today?"

"If you would have asked me two years ago, I would have said no. But more and more, I see my past in the decisions I make in my life today. You know, private guy, no long term relationships, tough persona. My boss says it might even explain why I am driven to do this work."

"It doesn't seem fair really. At some point, we should be released from the nightmare."

He looked up and thought about it. "I don't know. It helps me to not run from it anymore. It's part of me I think so I try to use it. It makes me good at I do. I have even used it to reach people."

"How'd that work out?"

"Actually, Sara, it works pretty good."

"I'm just so angry all the time. How do you do it? You seem so even."

He laughed and almost choked on a piece of tortilla. "Well, I guess you could call me a master of disguise. I hide it well."

"I'm all over the place. Blow-ups. Attitude. Crying. I am an emotional tornado sometimes, and it drives people away. Wish I could hide it better."

"I don't know. Grissom doesn't look like he's going anywhere."

She rolled her eyes. "You have no idea the mess I have made of that relationship."

His eyebrows rose. "You have the hots for grumpy guy? What is it about women and their bosses?"

Sara's face colored and she couldn't meet his eyes.

"Hey Sara. I'm an idiot. I'm sure he's great guy if I got to know him."

She chuckled. "He's a workaholic. He's divorced from his emotions. He's enigmatic. Never shares anything about himself. He likes to display his brilliance at the expense of others. And I have heard him described as arrogant too many times to count."

"Wow! Great guy. I bet there's a line outside his door."

"You'd be surprised. He's currently seeing the female equivalent of himself. Woman in the lab. You'll probably meet her. Beautiful blonde, Stiff as a board. We call her the Vulcan."

"And here I thought that lab guys were all a bunch of nerds."

She wrinkled her nose and flicked black beans at him off her fork.

He threw his arm up to defend himself. "Hey! This is my favorite blue suit."

"I bet they think you're a pain in the ass back in New York."

He brushed the black beans off his breast pocket. "You have no idea. But at least there, nobody throws food at a person."

"Seriously, Danny, I think I am ready for Hatfield today. I won't let him get to me this time."

"Oh no. We're going to switch it up. Hatfield can only dream about you today. Grumpy guy, I mean Grissom, and I will take a run at him."

"I have to admit I am a little bit relieved"

"All right, Sara. Let's go get 'em." He was up and at the cash register before she could finish swallowing.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

Grissom and Taylor conferred in harsh whispers in the corner of the room. Grissom stood arms folded looking at Danny out of the corner of his eye. Danny, on the other hand, was more animated, gesticulating his points with his arms.

Sara observed them through the observation mirror. The door opened behind her and then Brass was standing next to her. "You think they are ready for Hatfield?"

"Give them a minute. They appear to be discussing strategy."

He leaned close to her ear. "You want to explain to me why Grissom was calling me at 5 a.m. ranting about you and the FBI agent."

She snorted and shook her head. Never taking her eyes off the quarrelling men, she said, "Well, Jim. On the weekends, I like to have sex with anonymous men, and this weekend, I was so busy working…well, you know, I didn't have time. Last night I was beside myself with lust, ready to explode, and Agent Taylor was available and so I said, 'your place or mine' and he said—"

"Stop." Brass winced. "You're grossing me out."

"You asked."

"You know, the two of you are a bona fide mess. He goes out with the Vulcan, and you play footsy with Agent Dreamy Eyes. The two of you go atomic every time you're in the same room together. Pull it together, Sara. This is a big case. Let's keep the bugman focused, okay? We need him. We need both of you."

Sara bit her lip. She knew that this had to be her last case. Brass was right. It was clear that working with Grissom had become untenable. She resisted the hot tears that threatened her eyes. "They look ready to me, Brass. Send him in."

……………………………………………………………………………………………

"Hatfield, long time, no see." Danny got up and escorted him to a chair.

"Agent Taylor," the small man said.

"You remember me. What a treat. A man of your stature."

Hatfield turned to Grissom. "You must be the celebrated Dr. Grissom. I have been an admirer of your work for some time."

Grissom bowed his head slightly but said nothing.

Hatfield surveyed the room with his pale eyes. "No Sara? I was so looking forward to seeing her."

"Well, Hatfield, you weren't very respectful to her yesterday. I think she must have found something better to do." Danny kept a slightly amused smile on his face.

Hatfield looked straight into the mirror. "Sara, I know you're back there. Don't hide from me. It's such a cruel thing to do when someone cares for you so much."

"Hatfield!" Danny was startled by the force in Grissom's voice. "CSI Sidle is not there."

Hatfield blinked at Grissom. "Like a lion protecting his pride. I would have thought that you were too detached to play that role. Or is Sara special to you? I certainly find her to be."

Grissom let out a breath and sat down across from the man. "Now you are going to tell me that you and I are actually a lot alike."

Hatfield smiled. "Very good, Dr. Grissom. Scientists. Eager to study. Eager to learn. Objective observers of the natural world. Brilliant. Curious to try new things. Manipulate conditions to provide more stimulation, more satisfaction."

"I'm not a killer."

"But you could be. So easily. It merely requires courage to seek beyond what is safe, predictable."

"I like predictable."

"But it won't work for you once Sara is gone. I can tell that just by looking at your eyes."

Grissom flushed. He worked to keep his composure.

Hatfield turned to Danny. "You see, Orphan Boy, as usual, you are looking too hard at the all the wrong things. That is why you are always spinning your wheels."

Danny looked away for a moment and licked his lips. "Well then, why don't you illuminate me, Hatfield?"

"I don't lie. When I say that I didn't kill those girls I am telling you the truth. I only like to watch."

"Watch what?" Danny leaned across the table.

"You, Dr. Grissom, the two bit homicide detective who pushed me yesterday; I like to call him Copper not Brass 'cause he's a copper. I like to watch you wallow in your frustrations, your inadequacies. It's amusing."

"Hatfield, you must be the life of every party. How do the ladies resist your charms?"

"Ask Sara. She'll be able to tell you soon enough."

Danny Taylor let out a low whistle. Grissom shook his head, and opened the file in front of him. "Okay, Hatfield, we are going to go through this case by case."

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

Finally they sat down together, all of them. Grissom and Brass at one end of the table, Sara and Danny on the other side.

"Three hours. Did we get anywhere in that time?" Sara was surprised to hear such frustration in Grissom's voice.

"Forensics, Grissom. We get him through forensics." Danny pushed the file across the table.

Grissom massaged the bridge of his nose. "We've done this before, Taylor. We know that forensics are the key." He pushed the file back.

"Play nice, boys." Brass loosened his tie and leaned back in his chair. "What does Greg say?"

Sara sighed. "He has almost nothing. No DNA. Fibers are inconclusive."

"If he killed her, tortured her over days, how do we not have DNA?" Grissom glared at her across the table. Brass blinked at the energy he directed at Sara.

"He only likes to watch." Danny said softly.

Grissom looked at him. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know. If he has a partner, there would still be DNA, right?"

Grissom shook his head. "Someone would really have to know what they were doing to avoid it."

"Then we go back to the evidence. Rework all of it." Sara's eyes locked with Grissom.

"We have both done that, Sara."

"This is what we do." She threw her arms out. "We don't have another way."

"So that's it then." He pulled the glasses from his face and glared at her.

"Yeah, Grissom, it's over." She pushed away from the table and stood up.

"Whoa, kids. While the dinner theater is entertaining, we are not done by any means." Brass reached over to pull Sara back into her chair.

"I say we take a break. Come back together later on." Danny stood up, file in hand. He turned at the door. "Sara, you know a good place to get a sandwich around here?"

"Wally's on Central has good hoagies."

"Still don't have a car." He smiled at her.

"I could use something." Sara got up to follow him out. "You guys want anything?"

"Yes, I want you to drop him off at the nearest rental car agency. You're a criminalist not a chauffeur."

Sara shook her head at him, and followed Danny out the door.

Brass looked at Grissom with an odd smile playing on his lips. "Watching you talk to Sara is like watching a drunk trapeze artist performing without a net."

TBC


	4. chapter 4

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, inc.

Spoiler: Unbearable.

Okay, the pain of last Thursday is starting to fade. Making Grissom miserable helps. The story takes a serious turn now. The angst and drama are being kicked up a notch. Hope that keeps you involved. I need my readers, and the encouragement you all send me in your reviews. I am being read by some esteemed company, and I want to thank my fellow writers for taking the time to read and review.

Sheila

**Afraid of the Light**

**Chapter 4**

Catherine stood in his doorway. She waited for him to notice her, but he didn't. He sat in the dark, the sole light being the small lamp at his desk, and stared at the same page in his journal for several minutes. Finally she knocked lightly on the doorframe. He looked up.

She didn't wait for an invitation. "Hey Gil, how you doing?"

"Busy."

"So take a few minutes." She settled into a chair.

He sighed and put down his magazine.

"You look like hell, and everyone in the lab is afraid of you."

"Thank you, Catherine, I will attend to it. Will you excuse me?" He got out of his chair as if to usher her out.

She stayed put, arms folded across her chest. "Is she really leaving?"

"That's what she says."

"And you're going to let her?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. "It's probably time for her. She's outgrowing her position."

She rolled her eyes at him. He sat back in his chair and looked at the back wall. "Catherine, how did I become a monster?"

She rested her face on her palms and considered his question. "She cared about you forever, and you never took her seriously. Sometimes you even enjoyed it. The attention, the adulation, the intense loyalty. And Sara…well, she was so single minded about you. She never seemed to understand the struggles of being with a man like you."

"The struggles of being with a man like me…" Grissom repeated her words slowly.

"Your words, not mine."

"I've probably been as obsessed with her as she was with me. But I took it for granted. I kept her at arms length. I couldn't risk it. She has so much feeling, so much heart. It scares me."

Catherine let out a deep breath. "I've never heard you like this before."

He didn't answer. He just sat there quietly in the dark.

"How do you feel about Sofia?"

He shrugged. "She's beautiful, intelligent, sexy. We share similar interests."

"Feelings! Bugman. Feelings!"

He threw up his hands. "I don't know!"

She shook her head. "Sara should have killed you with her bare hands a long time ago."

"I've lost her."

"I know, Gil."

"It hurts, Catherine."

She leaned forward. She wanted to tell him that he still had time. He could confess everything. He could ask for her forgiveness. He could change. But she couldn't bring herself to say it as she suspected that it truly was too late. Instead, she reached across his desk, taking his hand and squeezing it. "I'm sorry." She said before leaving him to his dark office.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Sara sat at the kitchen table. The room was pristine. Sterile. All of the colors were brown or beige. There was a dank smell around her. She shivered a little as she felt the kitchen table beneath the palms of her hands. A man sat at this table and ate there. A man who beat and cut and tortured women, and made them beg for their lives sat at this table on a daily basis, and then he would sit down and eat like a normal human being.

Danny sat down at the table across from her. "What are you thinking about right now?"

"We live in a world where we can know someone is a killer. We can feel it. See it. But we can't do anything about it if a Byzantine set of protocols are not followed. It's crazy."

"A couple of years ago, a guy, name of Graham Spaulding, walked after confessing to murder and sexual assault. Literally, I think I was nauseous for a month."

"Are they finding anything?"

"I don't know. The crew cut keeps glaring at me though. Wanted to know why I'm still hanging around here."

She smiled. "Nicky is protective."

"And the other two; geek boy and jazzy cool. What are their names?"

"Greg and Warrick."

"It's nice that they all took time to come over and do another search."

"I figured the place needed fresh eyes."

"Speaking of fresh eyes, you look pretty done in, Miss Sidle."

"You've been up as long." She reached across the table and fixed the cuff of his sleeve.

"Are you sure you're ready to leave?"

"I have to. I have made such a fool of myself. I can't live like this anymore."

"You thought about New York?"

"You think there's a place for me there?"

He scratched at his scruffy head. "I tell my boss about you, and well, you can pretty much start looking for an apartment."

"Do it, Danny."

He nodded and smiled. "All right. I will."

She rested her head in one arm, leaving the other one outstretched. He reached over and laced his fingers in hers.

"Is something happening here, Sara?"

She lay there looking at him for a moment. "I don't know. Are you into women with emotional baggage?"

"That's supposed to make me run screaming, and usually it would. But it feels like we have known each other for years. I don't understand it."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

He made a face. "Uh, that's the point. I don't say that to any of the girls. I just broke every rule I ever made for relationships."

She lifted her head and pulled her hand away. "Danny, I'm not there yet. God help me, but I still love him."

He made an exaggerated gesture of wiping sweat from his brow. "Whew! That was a close one. Thankfully, I can now return to my shallow but safe existence."

"Not if I'm going to be in town, Taylor. This is only the beginning of many soul searching conversations. We're going to help each other climb out of our pasts."

"Ahem!" Sara whirled around to see a stern Nick looking at them from the doorway.

"Find anything?"

"Nope. However, it looks like you did." He had his arms folded tightly across his chest.

Sara rolled her eyes. Danny looked up with an amused smile. "How's it going there, Soldier?"

"Do you do anything besides hit on women?" Nick glared at him.

"Nicky!" Sara stood up.

Danny put a hand on her arm. "It's okay. The crew cut just needs to get to know me. Then he can dislike me legitimately."

Her eyes reddened, and Danny could feel her shaking through the sleeve of her shirt. He gently pulled her back into her chair.

"Sara," Nicky said as he too sat down at the table.

"I can't believe how much it hurts to be leaving you guys."

"Then don't do it, Sara." Nick rubbed her back.

"But I really need to. It's best for me." She smiled at him while blinking back the tears that flooded her eyes.

"I know."

"If I end up in New York, are you going to come and visit?"

Nick gestured with his head. "Is fancy pants here going to be nosing around you if I do?"

Sara laughed. "I don't know. He's a friend."

"Yeah, but you're vulnerable right now." Nick looked at Danny.

"You gotta stop taping Oprah, Nicky." Sara said. "I'm fine."

Nick sat back in his chair. "We're recanvassing the neighbors. It's going to be another couple of hours. Go home. Get some sleep. We're going to need you later." He got up, and then stopped at the doorway, looking over his shoulder. "Hey fancy pants, want to see some real police work?"

"Give me what you got. I'll drop it off for processing before I go home." Sara called after him. Danny gave her hand a squeeze and stood up.

"Fancy pants! I love that guy!" he said with a wink. Then he disappeared down the hallway after Nick.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

She spread the evidence across the table. Mostly fibers; nothing that they hadn't already collected on previous visits. In her gut, she knew that there would be no new evidence in the fuzz and threads that lay in front of her.

A shadow fell on the table, and she looked up. He stood there awkwardly.

"We tried, but I don't think we got anything new." She stepped away from the table as if to make room for him.

"We'll work it, Sara. If there is something to find, we'll find it. Go home. Get some sleep."

She felt her muscles tense. Everything lived at the surface in her now. Anger, grief, fear. It was a constant struggle to keep her eyes from overflowing with tears.

"Sara, please."

She swallowed hard and stared at the ground. "I haven't had any sleep. I'm sad, and I'm not controlling it very well. I just can't talk to you right now."

"I'm sorry."

"It's going to be hard to leave, Griss."

"Please don't."

She put up a hand to stop him, and he fell silent. She turned and walked out of the room. He watched her for one wrenching moment. Then Grissom the enigma, the unfeeling man burst open wide. He whirled around, and drove his hand flat into the wall. A resounding thud traveled from the wall up through his arm. He felt a howl rush up his throat, but he used every ounce of self control he had left to swallow it again. Trembling, he leaned against the wall, gritting his teeth against the throbbing pain radiating from his wrist.

Holding his arm tightly to his middle, he looked up. She was standing in the doorway, shock etched on her features. The humiliation of his naked emotions played on his face.

She saw his pain and looked away. Slowly, she spoke, her eyes focused on the table, "I wanted you to know, in case I don't have a chance,…who knows what the next few days will bring, I want you to know that you're a good man, and I'm proud to have known you." Then she was gone, the image of her fading into the empty doorway.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Greg stared out of Hatfield Corcoran's kitchen window. Behind him, Nick, Warrick, and Danny Taylor sat at the kitchen table rehashing the case file.

"We know what we're doing, Taylor," Nick said.

"Of course, you do, but it is my job to go over it again. I'm like that pesky fly on the dashboard that you just can't kill. I won't stop. I'm going to keep buzzing until I shake something loose." Danny had his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up.

"Were you raised by wolves?" Warrick asked.

Danny smirked. "Funny one, Jazzy cool."

"That's CSI Brown to you." Warrick shook his head.

Greg backed away from the window. "Hey guys, when I talked to Mrs. Watson next door, she said that Corcoran likes to garden, almost every night at dusk he goes out for 30-60 minutes."

Nick looked over his shoulder. "Yeah, you were wondering why someone would garden at dusk, and I reminded you that some people do it because of the heat."

"Do you guys garden?"

They all looked at him as if he had inquired as to their arts and crafts routines.

Unperturbed, Greg continued. "Well, I do. And I have been staring at Corcoran's garden, and I think it is a pretty sad little patch. It looks pretty neglected."

"So?"

"So, what's he doing every night out there for half hour to an hour?"

Three chairs scraped back simultaneously, and they all joined him at the window.

"He keeps a shovel by the back door," said Nick.

"He's a meticulous guy. He wouldn't leave a shovel there for no reason." Warrick said as he followed his colleagues out the back door.

Greg stood at the garden for a moment and surveyed it. He saw it almost immediately; an area where the plants were fading faster than the other areas. He pointed it out, and Danny marched out there in his suit pants, and started digging. It was less than five minutes before he hit metal.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

They crowded into Archie's cubicle, and watched as he placed a tape into the recorder. Grissom stood at the back, trying to ignore the pain stabbing through his rapidly swelling wrist. He turned to Greg. "You couldn't reach Brass on his cell? And you tried to page him?"

Greg nodded impatiently. Archie played with the video and audio for a moment, and then an image flashed onto the screen. A woman was sitting in a room, naked. She was begging someone. It was clear that this person was the one holding the camera. Grissom knew that he was watching Geneva Austin in the hours before her murder. The camera zoomed in, and she screamed. The men gathered around the screen sucked in breath collectively. With his good hand, Grissom caught Archie's eye, and slashed across his neck. The video died. Eyes turned to him.

"We preserve her dignity, gentlemen. The video is evidence. Only those processing it will see it."

He got no protest. Everyone looked relieved to not have to watch this woman's torture.

"Archie, you got all five of them?"

Archie nodded. He had five tapes, each labeled with the name of a murdered girl. The thought that he held a record of such enormous pain in his hands made him shudder.

Danny broke out from the group as if unable to stand still any longer. He paced. "He said he liked to watch. He catches the girls, brings to his partner, and gets a videotape as reward."

"Sounds reasonable." Grissom responded.

Danny swung around and pointed. "I don't care what your politics are. We are going to fry his ass in the chair, and I plan on being there in the front row with a box of popcorn and a soda."

For a moment, he reminded Grissom of Sara; bundles of infectious energy and passion. Maybe Danny Taylor would be good for her. Maybe he could understand her better, challenge her with his own passion. Grissom tried to consider this rationally, but it left him with nothing but an ache in his gut.

"Grissom! Grissom!"

Grissom wheeled around to find Brass striding toward him.

"He let him go. That bastard Patterson let him go. Brought him into chambers four hours ago, and bought his argument that we are being overenthusiastic in our investigation. Then he put him out on the streets, and nobody got word to us."

"Jim, we have tapes. We have all five victims on tape. Right out of Corcoran's garden."

"We have an APB out on him. Grab those tapes. We need to get a judge to sign another warrant. Come on Taylor, let's see if you have any particular muscle to bring to this party." Brass turned and headed back out the door. Danny scooped up the tapes and followed Grissom out the door.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

TBC


	5. chapter 5

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, inc

Spoiler: Unbearable.

So I watched tonight, but I am not sure if I feel better or not. Was the dinner all about keeping her as an employee? Who knows? They love to be vague with us. Maybe they want to keep all their options open. Story is getting intense. Still don't know where it's going, but I am happy that you all are along for the ride. As usual, the reviews make this all worthwhile. Thanks!

Sheila

**Chapter 5**

**Afraid of the Light**

Warrick drove. Danny sat next to him, leaning against the dashboard as if urging the truck forward, Grissom sat in the back next to Brass who was mumbling under his breath about judges and stupidity. Grissom carefully laid his injured hand on his lap. Brass looked over, and sucked in breath through his teeth. "So what's our plan here, Gil. You gonna ignore that broken wrist or are you just planning to amputate it later in Doc's lab."

Gil's head went up and he blinked. Then his eyes grew wide. He turned to Brass and whispered, "Sara. She went home a few hours ago."

"Shit!" Brass leaned forward. "Turn around! Turn around!"

"We're only about half a mile from the courthouse, Brass." Warrick swiveled his head around.

"Do it, Warrick, now!" Brass began stabbing at his cell phone. "What's her address?"

Danny turned around and caught Grissom's eye. "He probably went straight home. He would want to stalk her before he would grab her. This is not how he operates. Besides, it would too obvious. I'm not sure that Hatfield is ready to be caught."

Grissom nodded. "Better to be safe. I don't have my cell phone with me. Call her please."

Danny was already pulling up her number. He held the phone to his ear. Four rings sounded and then her answering machine. Danny hung up the phone. "I'm going to try again in a few minutes. She was really tired."

Grissom closed his eyes and laid his head back against the seat. A fear was building in his gut, and he could do nothing to curb it. He tried to keep his breathing regulated, and hoped he could keep a clear head. In the background he could hear Danny repeatedly imploring Sara to pick up her phone. Brass had squads rolling on her address.

"Squad says her car is in her parking spot." Brass announced.

"Good sign." Danny nodded.

"Does he ever grab them in their own vehicles?" Warrick's eyes never left the road.

"No, he doesn't." Silence fell over the truck until Warrick pulled into her driveway. Several squads were parked haphazardly about the lot. Warrick pulled the Denali in next to Sara's. Without a word, they were out and climbing the steps to her apartment. An officer met them at the top of the stairs with the apartment manager. He reported that she hadn't responded to repeated knocking.

Brass took the keys from the manager and slid one into her lock. Slowly, he opened the door, his gun and Danny's unholstered. The daytime sun flooded into the apartment. Grissom walked in behind Brass. He had been there before. It was a comfortable, warm space, and he had appreciated her aesthetic sense. Danny moved through the apartment quickly calling Sara's name. He came back into the living room, reporting simply, She's not here."

Grissom turned to Brass and took the keys. "Go! Get the warrant for his arrest. We'll stay and wait for her."

"She could be out on a run right now."

"Possibly." Grissom lived in a frozen place in this moment. He had forgotten the pain in his hand and arm. A low buzzing served as background to his thoughts. His responses were slow but measured. He needed to be in a comfortable place, a place of authority.

"Gil. Hey Gil, are you with me?" Brass was waving an arm in front of him. "What are you going to do?"

Grissom blinked and looked at him. "I'm going to treat this like a crime scene." He turned around and walked back down to the truck for a kit.

"Follow him," growled Jim to Warrick. "He's got a broken wrist that hasn't been tended to. Make sure he doesn't try to carry anything." Warrick nodded and disappeared.

"So Agent Taylor, it's time to bring in your brothers from serial crime, isn't it?"

Danny nodded.

"You think you could ask them to tread carefully around us. I expect we'll be having some jurisdiction tussles over this. This is real personal for us."

"I'm not going anywhere, Brass. They're going to have to let us take the lead. We know the case."

Jim smiled sadly. "Ah, the vagaries of a youthful mind."

"She could have walked down to a café or a drugstore."

He shook his head. "The minute Grissom remembered, I knew. He came straight here. Probably was waiting for her when she came home to sleep. You know how he got her into the car better than I do."

"He chloroforms her, puts duct tape over the rag, and pulls her down to the car before she passes out. He's so smooth about it that previous witnesses merely thought he was escorting a sick friend to her car."

"Where did he grab her? Where was he waiting?" Danny turned to see Grissom and Warrick at the door, Warrick carrying both kits. Danny walked past them into the hot sun. He walked along the sidewalk until he came to some bushes at the corner of her building, bushes she would have had to pass in order to reach her door.

"He likes to come out of the bushes, grabs them, subdues them, and then moves them quickly."

Warrick moved past him, and started to set up a perimeter five feet in every direction around the bushes. Brass and Danny move back. Swiftly, Warrick dons his gloves and begins to carefully work the branches of the bush. He removes cigarette stubs and candy wrappers, handing them to Grissom who bags them with Brass' help. Warrick disappears behind the bushes for a moment. Then he stood up, a roll of duct tape in his hand, his face a mask of fear. They all stood transfixed. Up to this point everything had been speculation, but now they had something that pointed directly at their suspicions. Danny broke away first, wheeling around and shouting expletives to the sky. Grissom stood paralyzed, unable to even bag the tape. Brass and Warrick worked together to do this. Warrick put his hand on Grissom's shoulder waking him gently. "I'm calling in everyone." Grissom nodded and Warrick moved away, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

"The warrant?" Grissom said when he found his voice.

"We don't need that stinking judge right now, Gil. Don't worry about it. I don't particularly want to be in the same room with him. I'll send a squad to it. They can tell him what he did. Believe me. He'll sign anything after that."

An EMT climbed the stairs to Sara's apartment. Grissom stiffened. Brass took him by the arm. "Get the damned thing splinted at least. It's a distraction having you walking around this hulking, purple hand hanging off your arm." Grissom glared at him, but followed the EMT down to his truck.

Danny was talking rapidly into his cell pacing back and forth, his free hand pantomiming the importance of his words. Then he snapped it shut and looked at Brass. "The field office will be here in twenty. Quantico is going to monitor the situation by phone. Unless the local guys start waving their dicks around, I think you and I are running it."

Brass nodded. "I'm going to get on the horn with the sheriff. He might not be much, but he'll hate the idea that someone took one of ours. My guess is that I'll have whatever I want at my disposal."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Danny lost his suit coat sometime in the last two hours. Every few minutes he thought about looking for it, but then got refocused on the kinetic energy around him. Brass was barking at deputies over a radio microphone. He had just discovered that Corcoran's car was still in the parking lot. So they were currently without a car to track. Brass had deputies searching for all cars stolen in the last eight hours.

Grissom stood in the corner with a splint on his arm. He was quiet, but was observing intensely. Danny caught his eye, and Grissom walked over.

"We have to figure out what car he has? Has he stolen a car before?"

Danny shook his head. "We've theorized that he keeps another car that he registers under a false name. He parks it somewhere, and waits until he needs it."

"He must have purchased it recently. He can't leave a car unattended too long. It'll be noticed."

"We had someone here working on this, right?"

"Ronnie was doing a search on all vehicles purchased in the last year in Nevada by persons without a Nevada license. Hoping to find some fake names."

Danny extended his arm. "Why don't we see what Ronnie has?"

Grissom led him through the lab until they found Ronnie. Ronnie looked up with a worried look on his face. "I'm real sorry, Grissom. You can have all the work out of me that you want."

"What happened with the DMV search? We had you matching registrations to licenses."

"Not sure it's going to help. In the last year, there were 5,786 registrations we can't match to licenses. We have determined that 3,903 came from buyers out of state. That still leaves us with 1,883 unaccounted licenses."

"Limit it to cars purchased in the last month."

Ronnie manipulated the screen. "That brings us to 97 cars."

Grissom looked over at Danny.

Danny leaned over Ronnie. "Narrow it to all economy cars. No SUV's, no luxury cars."

Ronnie typed in another screen. "That brings us down to 43 cars with possible owners using false names."

"Hatfield likes to play with us. Thinks he's smarter. Maybe he would tease us with the name he used."

Danny nodded and suggested another combination. "Ronnie, are there names with Hatfield or Corcoran in them? Also, look for the initials HC."

Ronnie shook his head. "Nothing."

"Anything unusual?"

Ronnie narrowed his eyes and looked at names. "There is a Sara."

"There are many Saras, Ronnie. That doesn't help us."

"No Grissom, look at this." Ronnie pointed to his screen. A name was highlighted: Sara Sidlenomore.

A chill ran through Grissom. Danny groaned. "He must have purchased the car from lock-up. How did that happen?"

"A visitor? His lawyer?"

"We'll have Brass check it out. Give me that description, Ronnie." Danny took it and ran from the room.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Grissom didn't even bother to leave his desk light on. He sat there in the dark. A TV and VCR stood in the corner. The TV screen was on, the image paused. Geneva Austin sat in a thin, white shift staring into the camera, her face contorted in fear.

He was unable to watch more, and equally unable to click away her image. He was exhausted, but fear kept him awake. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten which was good because the nausea in his stomach was almost as intense as the throbbing pain in his arm. He had resisted an x-ray, and was beginning to suspect that it needed setting. However, he didn't care enough to take the time.

Thoughts of Sara stung his eyes. He couldn't stop imagining her in a white, gauzy shift, frightened, vulnerable; Sara, his fierce, scrappy girl, alone and terrified. The thought of someone breaking her spirit as well as her body was extraordinarily painful to him. He suspected that he would never really survive it. He felt that his spirit was intricately connected to hers.

He sensed a presence and looked up to see Danny Taylor in his doorway. Danny's shirt was untucked and his sleeves rolled up. The unruly thatch of hair on his head looked wild. "Are you sure you should be watching that?"

"I should be doing something."

Danny lingered at the door. Grissom motioned to a chair. Danny came in and sat down.

"I understand she wanted to go to New York with you."

Danny's eyes had shadows and he let his head fall back against the chair. "Yeah, I don't know if it was real, but she said wanted a new job."

"You only knew her for 4 days."

He smiled a little. "We connected. Probably not in the way that you think, but I think we understood each other."

"Corcoran called you Orphan Boy." Grissom rubbed at his eyes as he talked.

"Yeah."

"Is that part of your connection to her?"

"I think so. We understand loneliness and trust differently than others. And I like her energy. She's a fighter."

They both left the last comment unanswered. How her feistiness would serve her now was not something that either man wanted to contemplate.

"Did she talk about me?"

Danny nodded.

"It probably sounds like I want you to betray her confidence, but I don't. I only want the best for her. She means…the world to me."

Danny folded his arms across his chest. "Sometimes we're not very good about telling people that."

"Yeah. The two of you aren't the only ones who…struggle with loneliness and trust."

"I'm not leaving 'til we find her."

"How did this happen, Danny? How was this possible?"

"I encouraged her to interview Hatfield. Thought we could use her to get him. You knew better."

"If I knew so much then this wouldn't be happening."

"Ah, omnipotence, a great fall back position for so many great men."

Grissom raised an eyebrow at the sarcasm.

"Sorry. It's just that you sound like my boss. Smart as hell. Great leader. But he insists on carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Hard to get close to a guy like that, you know."

Grissom had no opportunity to respond. Brass came barreling down the hall calling hs name. He scrambled to his feet, and ran into Danny at the door.

"We found him!" Brass exclaimed.

"What!"

"He's staying at a motel in Reno. We found the car. They arrested him when he came out for something to eat."

"Sara?"

Brass shook his head. "He's alone. But we have a good place to start."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

TBC


	6. chapter 6

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, inc.

Spoiler: Unbearable

Thanks for all of the kind words. We're getting to the tough part. It's getting hard to write, but I hope that you continue follow through this with me. I will be out of town for the next couple of days. Hope to have another chapter by Tuesday morning. Your reviews are grand! Thanks!

Sheila

**Chapter 6**

**Afraid of the Light**

Catherine got in the squad car next to Grissom at the Reno airport. Greg started to climb in the other side, but she waved him away. She moved in next to him, and gently picked up his injured hand and placed it on her lap. "How you holding up?"

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

She rolled her eyes. "I know. You can't have this conversation. It's too much right now."

He gave her a thin smile.

"Then I'll talk." Catherine said. She leaned into his side. "He's had her two days now. He usually doesn't kill for another 5- 7 days. That's good news for us."

He started. "They are usually quite emaciated. He probably starves them, keeps them dehydrated so that they don't fight back."

"So, here's how it's going to go. Greg, Warrick, Nick, and I are going to take the car, his clothes, and the motel room. You are going to work the interview with Brass and my new Latin lover."

He arched an eyebrow.

"Yes, I know, but he smokes when he walks by. I can't help it. I'm hardwired to my libido."

"He likes Sara."

She shrugged. "Not all fantasies are meant to be consummated. Besides, I was hoping that the reference would wake you up a little."

"Agent Taylor can grow on a person…a little."

"Good. The two of you need to work together."

"How are the guys?" Grissom asked.

Catherine chuckled. "They're men. When faced with pain, they close down. Quiet, angry, tense. They're doing the best they can. They love Sara a lot. I forget about that, you know. We work together so much, so closely. We are a family. Losing her will hit them hard." Catherine stopped and cleared her throat, pink rising up her cheeks. "I wish we hadn't fought. I wish we weren't both so damned stubborn. I love her too."

Grissom reached over with his good hand and squeezed hers.

"I know you. You're going to crawl inside yourself and die a slow death. We won't be able to tell a thing. You'll just stand there, a face like granite watching your life implode. I have been watching the two of you for years, and I know you've only told me a fraction of what that girl has meant to you."

Grissom gave her a look. "Catherine, I don't choose how I grieve. Do you? This is who I am. This is how I live my life."

"Bullshit! You are a passionate man who cares about the work you do, the victims you serve, and the people with whom you work. You choose to hide that from people. It scares me to think that you are holding all of this fear and anger inside. It must be eating you up."

He sighed heavily.

"She's not the only one who needs you right now. We do too. Please don't hide from us."

"I'll try."

She settled back into the seat. "We have a plane out of here in 12 hours. The guys and I are going to collect evidence and go. I don't want them at the station looking at Corcoran. I need them focused."

"They're going to need rest."

"Everyone's going to be waiting for us when we get back. Even Ecklie. We're going to get more rest than you are."

He nodded and for a while they rode in silence. Looking straight ahead, Grissom began, "The afternoon she disappeared, I saw her. She was tired and stressed, probably hadn't eaten. I wanted to talk to her, I wanted to tell her something that would help, but, of course, I don't have words like that for Sara. And so, as usual, she left having received nothing of use from me. Then, your Rock of Gibraltor friend slammed his hand into the wall and broke his wrist. And when I looked up she was standing there. She probably saw everything. She came back because she wanted me to know, in case she didn't see me again," He swallowed. "She wanted me to know that I was a good man and that she was proud to have known me. Of course, I responded by standing there like an idiot with my mouth open. That was the last I saw her."

She wrinkled her brows. "So, leaving your wrist untreated is some sort of reminder or a penance of that moment. What?"

He chuckled abruptly. "Nothing that angst ridden. I just can't walk away right now. Don't want to take the time. Can't. It will just have to wait."

"They're going to have to re-break it, you know."

"Yeah, Brass has been giving me a running commentary of all the awful things they will have to do to me as a result of this neglect. It's fortunate I have some sense as to the extent of his orthopedic knowledge."

Catherine smiled. She gently patted his arm. "Thanks for talking to me, old friend."

Grissom looked out the window at the desolate landscape of Nevada. "We're going to find her, Cath. Not going to stop until we do."

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

Hatfield sat alone in the small interview room. He sat as he had the first time Grissom saw him, staring straight ahead, hands flat on the table. This time, however, Grissom detected an anxiety in him. It was clear that Hatfield had not been expecting this capture. Small droplets of sweat shone on his bald head, and his normally dapper appearance was ruined by local deputies who made him dress quickly. His shirt hung out the back of his pants. There was a purple/blue bruise growing on his left cheekbone.

Grissom stood behind the glass and thought about the small, dead man breathing in that room. He was probably occupied with his tapes. Wondering if they were found, wondering if he would ever be able to see Sara's tape. The tapes were the key. How to use them was the question.

The door to interview opened and Danny stepped in. Still without his suit coat, he had tucked in his shirt, but had lost his tie. He circled Hatfield, looking at him with burning eyes.

"Are you sure about this, Brass?" Grissom looked over at his friend who stared stoically through the glass.

"Let's watch Hatfield. Maybe we'll learn something. Let's see how badly we've surprised him."

Danny circled him again. This time Hatfield had his eyes on him; following him as he moved. Danny moved behind him and stopped. He put a hand on the man's shoulder and leaned over to talk in the man's ear. Not a whisper. He hissed loudly, clear enough for Grissom and Brass to make out. "Hatfield, it's over, buddy. And I'm here to gloat. Look at me, Hatfield. Orphan Boy is here, and I'm laughing at you. Your sloppiness. Sleeping in a motel when the deputies got you. Did they find you in your jammies, Hatfield?"

Danny wheeled away and paced the room again. "It's done. Your part is over. Sort of embarrassing, isn't it? You thought you were so much smarter."

Hatfield's chin jutted out, and he glared defiantly at Danny.

Danny sat across from and leaned over the table, smiling at Hatfield. "We have the tapes. Geneva, Frederika, Mary Ann, Ruth, Laticia. I've seen them all. And I have to say I'm disappointed. I thought you would have participated in some way, but you only watched. The quintessential couch potato serial killer. How anti-climatic."

Hatfield swallowed hard and shifted in his chair. Danny stood up and then slammed his hands down hard on the table. Hatfied jumped. "They left me alone in here with you. Maybe I'll slam your face into the table. Just an accident. No witnesses. What can you do?"

"This is juvenile, Agent Taylor."

Danny cocked his head. "Agent Taylor? I thought I was Orphan Boy. No, Hatfield, I'm not Agent Taylor. I am Orphan Boy, and I never got the nurturing I needed. Look at me, look at my eyes. Dead like a shark's. That's your Orphan Boy. I'm not going anywhere. My dead eyes are fixed on you; just waiting for that moment of weakness so I can pounce."

Hatfield closed his eyes. Danny smiled and sat down across from him again. "Hatfield, is it sad for you? Your girls are gone. I have their images. You only hold their memories; memories that will fade. Pretty soon, it will be hard to picture their terror. The echoes of their screams will disappear. I'm sure you'll do your best to keep them with you, but it won't help. The mind is predictable in this way. Losing them protects from our pain, but it also takes us away from our loves."

Eyes still closed, a tear appeared at the edge of Hatfield's eye and slid down his cheek. His chin wrinkled as he struggled to keep it from trembling.

"I'll always have access to them. Your Orphan Boy can go see your girls whenever I want. I could go be with them right now If I chose."

"Please!"

"Talk to me, Hatfield. Tell me about your partner. Tell me where Sara is."

Hatfield blinked. Then he smiled slowly. "Maybe that's what I will always have that you never will. Ever think of that, Orphan Boy."

Danny gripped the edge of the table to keep himself from vaulting over it and on top of the smug man.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

Danny came into the observation room wired. He paced the length of the room, hands in his hair. "Did I make it worse?"

"Rattling him was your job. He's definitely unsettled." Brass observed.

"I went in for the confession too quickly."

"Yeah, you did, but who wouldn't; the tear on his face, the jitteriness. You had to poke."

"What's next?"

"Grissom goes in."

"Has he got a plan?"

"Has Grissom got a plan?" Brass chuckled, then stopped abruptly. "Ah….no clue actually."

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

At first, Grissom had a hard time concentrating. Rage for the pathetic creature sitting before him was overwhelming him. He imagined hurting Hatfield Corcoran with his hands. He imagined breaking his skin and cracking his bones. The idea of it left him immensely satisfied. It suddenly came to him that he was not that different than the criminals he hunted. It left him with a smirk riding up one side of his mouth.

Hatfield saw this and smiled. "Are you with us, Dr. Grissom?"

"Just thinking."

"I asked you how you managed to injure your hand."

Grissom looked down at his hand and back at Hatfield. A germ of an idea began to form. "I broke my wrist slamming my hand into a wall."

"You lost control."

Grissom thought for a moment. "Yes, I realized I was losing someone important to me and I lost control."

"Sometimes control is all we have." Hatfield folded his hands in front of him.

Grissom smiled. "Are you in control?"

Hatfield looked away and smiled.

"I thought I could be, and then I lost something very important to me. I've since learned that control is an illusion that we offer ourselves to feel superior."

"Interesting theory, Dr. Grissom."

"Do you know what it is like to long for something and know that it will be forever out of your reach?"

Hatfield worried his lower lip with his teeth.

"All you really want is one more chance to see that person, to touch them, to soak the essence of who she is into your soul forever. Can you possibly understand that kind of longing?"

"Yes, I can."

Experience tells me that I will never see her again. She is gone forever." Grissom was unprepared for how much actual pain came through his words. "It's hard to believe that you can understand this especially since you caused it."

"I lost something too; something very dear and precious to me."

"They're just tapes, Hatfield."

He shook his head. "They are so much more than that. They live and breath for me just like Sara does for you."

Grissom sat back and regarded him carefully. "It's amazing really. You have what I need. And I have what you need. And yet we sit here completely unable to negotiate a solution."

Hatfield laughed abruptly. "This is not a level playing field. You walk away from this. I go nowhere."

"Adjust your expectations, Hatfield."

"You would never let me have those tapes."

"Everything is open to negotiation."

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

She was cold everywhere, her fingers to her toes, stiff and sore. The light in the room was dim. She was lying on a bare mattress with a metal frame. She struggled to sit up, and felt the room spinning. Her head pounded, and it took a moment to focus her vision. Looking down she realized that she was without her clothing. Instead, she was wearing only a thin white nightgown that stopped at her knees.

The room was without windows; the walls were concrete blocks. A large security door was the only way out. She struggled to get to her feet, and had to hold onto the metal frame for a moment until she could gain her balance. She lurched forward toward the door. She pounded on the door with her fists and screamed. Her voice was hoarse with thirst. There was no response. She continued hitting the door until her knuckles were sore and scratched, but she heard nothing back.

Suddenly a squealing erupted behind her. She wheeled around to see an intercom on the wall. The feedback continued for a moment, and then a voice, "Sara, please return to the bed."

She walked toward the intercom. "Who are you and where am I?"

"You are with me now."

"Hatfield?"

"No, Hatfield is not here. He works for me."

Panic seized her breathing, and she backed away.

"Sara, sit on the bed."

"No." She shot back.

"It is 58 degrees Fahrenheit in there. You are losing heat through your bare feet. You will last longer if you stay on the bed."

Sara slowly climbed back onto the bed. She tucked her knees up to her chin and squeezed her legs tightly to her body.

"I would imagine you're hungry and thirsty. Do you remember when you last ate?"

"How long have I been here?"

"49 hours, Sara. Did you know the human body can only survive 5 days without water? With water, but no food of any kind, you can last up to three weeks?"

"What are you telling me this for?"

"Hypothermia happens slowly. If I drop it two more degrees in there and you won't last two days."

She swallowed hard and tried to concentrate. Her temples throbbed with pain, and her stiff joints had begun to absorb the cold. She rubbed at her eyes harshly, and tried to ignore the fear that filled her.

"I won't come in there until you are ready to have me."

"I don't understand."

"I will wait until you're hungry and thirsty, and then I will come. You will ask for me."

She snorted. "Not going to happen."

"You will last longer if you do. Who knows? Maybe they'll find you. You want to live, don't you?"

Sara felt the cold wall. She got up and dragged the bed across the floor until it sat in the middle of the room. She looked around and for the first time she spotted the small camera up near the ceiling. Then she found her anger. She ran over to the corner and reached for it. It was too high so she tried jumping for it.

"Sara! Sit down!"

She ignored the commands.

"Sara! Sit down now or I drop the temperature 6 degrees. You won't last the night."

Sara dropped against the wall and slid to the floor. The cold of the concrete floor was sharp on her legs.

"You can return to the bed now."

She went to the bed, but didn't climb on. She felt the thickness of the mattress. It was old and tattered. She found a hole in the side, and worked her hand in. Slowly and carefully, she widened the tear. She continued to pull at it. Soon it was big enough for her to get both arms in. Methodically, she pulled and tore until she had created a tear all the way down one side of the mattress. She pulled at the cheap polyester filling, manipulating it until she had created a large pocket.

"Sara, I am fascinated with your process, but I think it's futile."

She ignored him. Slowly, she was able to insinuate herself inside the mattress. Soon she was able to cocoon herself inside. Her knees stuck out, but she was able to close part of the mattress with her hands.

"I think we are in for an interesting time together, don't you think, Sara?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………

TBC


	7. chapter 7

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, inc.

Spoiler: Unbearable.

Sorry I did post earlier. I was out of town for a couple of days. You probably didn't think Grissom deserved this much punishment, but the energy generated from Unbearable continues to flow. I can't find a way to inject humor currently so you are only treated to a rather tense, scary narrative. I hope it keeps you engaged. Your reviews are what make this worthwhile. Please keep them coming. Thanks

Sheila

**Afraid of the Light**

**Chapter 7**

Deputies walked in with grocery bags and put them on the table. Brass looked up in surprise, and peered into one of the bags. It was full of sandwiches and chips. Another bag held several sodas. A third deputy followed with a large thermos of coffee and cups.

"Hey fellas, thanks a bunch," Brass said. One deputy turned to him and said, "Not from us, Captain. A suit out of New York bought it."

Brass wrinkled his brow and looked at Grissom. Grissom shrugged and returned to watching Hatfield through the two way mirror. Hatfield had lost his stiff posture and now leaned over on the table, his head resting in his folded arms. Hours of questioning had left all of them with nothing but exhaustion.

Danny leaned against the wall, eyes closed. His shirt was loose, hanging out of his pants. An earlier confrontation with Brass now left him silent. He had wanted to go in once more, but Brass could sense that Danny would bring nothing but frustration with him into the room. Brass argued that meaningless bursts of anger at Corcoran were not going to serve them in the end. Grissom was surprised when Danny backed down. The young man had actually listened to Brass rather than brazenly surrendering to his impatience. His respect for the FBI agent was slowly growing.

"Danny!" came a shout from down the hallway. Danny's eyes popped open and he stood up straight.

"Come on, Taylor! Jesus, they pay me to find people, you know!" The voice was growing closer. Danny nervously ran his fingers through his hair and smoothed his shirt. Brass looked on with interest.

A man of broad stature appeared in the doorway. He had dark features, and weary eyes. Nattily dressed in a dark suit and tie, he took a moment to survey the room.

"Jack!" Danny responded. "What are you doing here?"

"You haven't answered your cell phone in two days." The man spoke in a deep, gravelly voice.

Danny grabbed at his pants, searching his pockets for his phone. Jack pulled it out of his suit coat and handed it to him. "I picked it up in Vegas when I went looking for you."

"I'm sorry, boss. I…forgot about it."

"Yeah, I know." He hefted a duffle onto the table. "Vivian went over to your place and packed up a few things for you."

Danny's eyebrows jumped. "She did?"

"We don't want you running around smelling like line-up at the soup kitchen. You need fresh things. Figured you could trust Vivian with your secrets. The rest of us do."

"You came to Reno to bring me fresh clothes."

"No, I came to Vegas to check on you. You are on a case and you lost contact with your supervisor. I am in Reno because you seem to feel free to prance around the country at will without notifying anybody."

Grissom could spot a blush growing on Danny's olive skin.

Jack Malone stopped looking sternly at his young agent, and turned to greet the other men in the room. "I'm Jack Malone, head of missing persons for the New York office." Grissom and Brass extended handshakes. "I've been introduced to you all informally through Danny over the last week whenever he deigns to honor me with a phone call."

Jack was ready to say more, but his eye caught the man in the mirror. He walked over and looked at the resting Hatfield Corcoran. He put one big hand on the mirror and stared at him intently.

"Jack's been tracking him for years. Could never get serial crimes interested in him. We had no physical evidence." Danny explained.

Jack turned to the men. "I understand that he took one of your criminologists; woman named Sara."

Grissom nodded.

"Got anything out of him?"

"No."

"But you have his tapes, right? The tapes are the key."

"Yes, Agent Malone, they are. Thank you for illuminating us. We were stumped." Brass growled.

"You and I going to have a pissing contest? You think we want different things here?" Malone's eyes narrowed. Danny stood between them watching as if a game of tennis. "Because, I think you are tired and frustrated, and I hope to hell you're not too stubborn to accept a little help."

Brass looked away. "All we have are those damn tapes, and there's not one thing we can do with them."

"Trade them for Sara." Grissom was startled by Jack's rather familiar use of her name.

"What? We set up a VCR in his cell, and let him watch footage of the women he helped destroy."

"Something like that." Jack set his chin, his eyes never leaving Brass

"We don't have the right. What about the families of those poor girls?"

"We use the tapes, bit by bit, confirming the information he gives us as we go."

Grissom cocked his head. "So we let him watch, say 15 minutes, in exchange for information about Sara and his partner. Then if it pans out, he gets 15 minutes more."

"You got the gist of it, Dr. Grissom."

Grissom thought this over carefully, worrying his lips with his teeth. "It turns my stomach. He gets rewarded with the images of the women he helped to torture."

"It stinks. The idea that we would allow him to see those girls again is out of the question." Brass' face was turning red.

Malone's hands landed on the table and he leaned forward. "She's somewhere cold right now. She hasn't eaten in three days, nothing to drink in two. She can't rest because of the cold and the hunger cramps in her belly. And he's watching her, waiting for the moment when it's safe to take her; when she has no more strength to fight him."

Brass scrambled across the table at the FBI agent. Danny caught him in the middle of the table and was rewarded with a right to his chin. Grissom had Brass by the shoulders, pulling him back to into his chair while Jack Malone stood there with a face of stone as if nothing had occurred.

"She has another 24-48 hours tops. No way he's going to keep her alive two weeks. Everything Danny tells me about her makes me think she's a fighter. She's not going to

give in to him."

"We would need the family's permission before he could see those tapes, wouldn't we?" Danny looked confused.

"I talked to them already. They've been in touch, curious about Corcoran's arrest. Three families said no, but two, Geneva's mom and Frederika's father, said yes. They want to help catch him."

Grissom closed his eyes. The idea was no longer hypothetical. This ethical minefield was set before them, and saving Sara required that they wind their way through it.

"What do you think, Jim?"

"I think we'll be making a deal with the devil, and I hope to God that we don't see him in hell." Brass pushed away from the table and left the room.

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

The polyester fill scratched on her bare skin, but the covering provided her with much needed warmth. With as little movement as possible, over hours, she had ripped a hole in the bottom of the mattress, worming her hand through the metal frame. After several hours, she was able to get one hand completely through the mattress and the frame. She was able to reach all the way to the cold concrete floor. As quietly as possible, she began to twist at bars, hoping to find a loose one. With stiff fingers, she pulled and twisted until she found one the moved. She had physics on her side, but she wasn't sure about time. Still, she began twisting and twisting the bar, hoping she could cause enough friction to eventually pull the bar free from the frame. For a long time, she lay still, her arm extended through the mattress, twisting on the metal bar. Her fingers ached, but she continued to work long past the time she lost the feeling in her fingers.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Grissom sat outside in the sun. He held in cup of coffee, and sat, eyes pointed down at the sidewalk, watching a small army of ants carrying a potato chip. He felt pain in his stomach, and couldn't remember when he had last eaten. He had tried one of the sandwiches Jack Malone brought, but two bites and he felt too nauseous to continue. Thoughts competed in his head, and he couldn't organize them. His feelings had long since broken through the gates of his heart. They continually assaulted him in ways he wasn't prepared to handle. It was all he could do to keep from losing his composure.

Grissom knew it when the New Yorker sat down next to him, but did nothing to acknowledge it. He heard a heavy sigh, and turned to see Jack Malone sitting there with his own cup of coffee.

"I can't get over the fact that ten hours ago, I was freezing my butt off at JFK, and now I want to go grab a pair of shorts."

Grissom turned his attention back to the ants.

"So I make a pretty good first impression, huh?"

Grissom snorted and shot Malone a look. "This isn't some kind of game for us, you know. She's very real to us. We have been a part of each other's daily lives for the last five years. Do you understand that?"

"I think I do."

"I will do anything to get her back. I will do what is unethical. I will break the law. I will risk my career. None of that matters to me. But I won't pretend that this decision won't have implications for lives beyond this police station."

Malone nodded. "Good. What we're going to do is ugly, it's important to remember that."

"I should be the one to go in."

"Yes, he likes you. He'll believe what you have to say."

"15 minutes and no more for each correct piece of information he gives us."

"Sounds reasonable."

Grissom chuckled. "None of this sounds reasonable, Malone."

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

She drifted in and out of sleep inside the old mattress. Things were beginning to blur: reality vs. fantasy. Unfortunately, neither world offered her any comfort. Crushing terror existed inside of her body as well as outside.

She saw herself standing at the top of a hill. It was a dusty hill littered with yellow grass. It was cold, and she hugged her body tightly. There was danger all around her. She couldn't see it, but she could feel it. She looked down the hill and saw her friends. First she saw Nicky and Warrick. And she began running toward them. Catherine appeared with Greg and Brass. Danny walked by like a regular employee. But no matter how hard she ran, she couldn't actually catch any of them. She called their names, screamed at them, but they were oblivious to her presence. She tried to grab Danny but he was always beyond her reach. Frustrated, she ran away from them, across the field. She saw Grissom up ahead sitting at his desk, and she raced for him. He didn't respond to her repeated cries for help. She reached him, grabbed a hold of his desk, and started yelling. He didn't blink, and so she cried and she begged and she pleaded with him. She walked around the desk and touched his face. It was soft and furry. She held onto his neck and pleaded for his help. Finally she got a response. A single tear fell from an eye and slid down his cheek. Then he was on his feet and gone. She sat on the ground and wept with despair.

She pulled herself out of that nightmare and back into her conscious one. Hour by hour it was getting harder to concentrate. She had become accustomed to the pain in her abdomen, but the thirst burned her throat. She stretched her aching fingers and returned to her work on the bar.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

Danny ran down the hallway and burst into the room. He strode up to the TV/VCR and hit the power.

"No!" Hatfield yelled.

"Victor Ramirez is dead. The partner you gave us is dead and has been for five years. False information and no TV, Hatfield."

Grissom shook his head and groaned. Hatfield turned to him and pleaded. "That's the name he gave me. It's the name I know him by. Please! I'm not lying to you."

Grissom shrugged. "If your information doesn't help us find Sara, then it's no good. That's the deal."

Danny was in his face. "Hey Hatfield! What if I hurt you the way that you and your buddy hurt those girls? Would that help? We could keep the tape running. You could scream along with the girls. How about it, Hatfield?"

For the first time, Hatfield actually lost his composure and started to shake. Grissom grabbed this opportunity. "All right, this is it. Spill it all; everything you know. All bets are off. If you don't, I swear I will leave you alone in this room with Agent Taylor for an hour. He ran out of his medication four days ago. Are you ready for that, Hatfield?"

"This is not my fault."

Grissom slammed the table with his fist. "All of this is your fault!"

Hatfield winced.

"You have thirty seconds to start talking before I get up and leave you to the Orphan Boy."

Danny smiled and folded his arms across his chest. This was the most useful he felt in three days.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

The procession of vehicles rolled into the yard of an old ranch, lights flashing, and sirens.

Grissom let Brass and his men set a perimeter and begin a search. Malone and Danny joined in while Grissom grabbed his kit, and followed behind. The ranch house was old and abandoned yet it was clear that someone had been there recently. The boarded up front door had been pried open, and freshly split boards littered the porch. Grissom knew that this would have only been a pick-up point for Hatfield's partner. He would receive Sara, wait until Hatfield left and then proceed to his place with her. Grissom knew it was on him to discover the next step in this process. He needed to link the trace evidence to Sara's location. It was all they had to go on. Carefully, he put down the kit, and with yellow tape, he cordoned off the house. Catherine was flying in along with Warrick and Nick. Together, they would conduct the most important crime scene investigation of their lives.

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TBC


	8. chapter 8

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, inc.

Spoiler: Unbearable

Sorry so late. Been busy. I work full time, teach at a local college, and just got into a doctoral program. I am under the impression that I can do absolutely everything at the same time. Wonder how long that will last. I know it's dark and scary, but I hope you are hanging in there. I hope to keep it interesting for you all. Your reviews keep me writing, and so I thank you very much.

Sheila

**Chapter 8**

**Afraid of the Light**

Catherine organized the last kit of samples, and carried it over to the squad. Warrick and Nick were leaning against the car.

"You're all packed up, guys." Catherine clapped her hands together.

"We should stay." Nicky packed it into the trunk.

"I need you to go with this evidence. Make sure it gets back safe. Make sure it's processed quickly."

Warrick folded his arms across his chest. "Catherine, they are waiting for it. It couldn't get better attention."

Catherine shook her head. "But I trust you. This is how you can help her."

"You're staying?"

"Yeah. Somebody has to. I don't think Grissom can do it…if it comes down to it."

Nicky looked away and swallowed hard.

"You guys gotta go. They're holding the flight for you."

Warrick gestured his head at Nick. Nick shook his head, but followed Warrick into the squad. Doors closed, lights flashed, sirens sounded, and the vehicle kicked up dust as it sped away from the ranch.

Catherine stood there, hands in her pockets, watching the vehicle wind along the dusty road and then disappears behind a hill. She sighed and turned around. Grissom was standing there looking at her.

"Why didn't you go with them?"

"Because I'm staying." She walked past him.

"I need you at the lab." He turned to follow.

"No, you need me here. I can help."

He threw his hands up in the air. "We have all the trace that's in that house. It needs to be processed."

"Warrick and Nick will take care of it." She stopped on the front porch and leaned against the old wooden railing.

"There's nothing to do here, Catherine." He followed her onto the porch. She folded her arms across her chest and stood there, a look of determination on her face. Grissom stared at her for a moment in confusion. Then a transformation as he realized what was really going on. He turned and walked away from her.

"You're here because you don't want me to process her body…if we find her dead."

She walked up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't think you should do it."

"But you can?" He turned and fixed her with a glare.

"Yes, I can show her the dignity she deserves. You don't want a stranger. And you…well, you shouldn't be the one to do it."

He snorted and turned away from her. His voice came in a low growl. "I don't want to talk to you about this."

Catherine hesitated, anxiously chewing on her lips as she thought. Finally she stepped forward and gently put her hand on his shoulder. "Gil, you are my best friend, and I don't know what to do. The only thing I can think to do is to protect you."

"But you can't Catherine." Grissom mumbled this last piece before walking away. She watched him leave the porch and wander off down the road.

"Ahem." Catherine turned to see Jack Malone standing there.

"Can I do something for you?" She couldn't keep the irritation out of her voice.

He shook his head. "Nope. Think I'll take a walk." He smiled at her, and then followed Grissom down the road.

………………………………………………...

Grissom knew he was being followed and was irritated by this. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts no matter how macabre they might be. He thought about speeding up, but settled for turning around with an angry look on his face. Malone was entirely unperturbed by his energy leaving Grissom to wonder what the New York agents might face if not swayed by his patented looks of disapproval.

"I'd prefer to be alone right now."

"Yeah, I need to talk to you about the case."

Grissom sucked in a breath. "You know something?"

Jack stopped short. "No. I don't. I wanted to say that I think that he and Sara are nearby. I went over the reports of how long the girls were unconscious with chloroform, and consulted with your Doc Robins. Hatfield's timeline tells us that Sara was already unconscious for ten hours when he arrived here. Robins thinks she would only stay under another 6 which makes me think that they pick this spot so that he can get her and move her quickly. He doesn't want to risk her waking up during the drive, and struggling with him once he gets to his place."

"Presuming he doesn't like to struggle with her."

"He doesn't, Gil. He waits until they are half starved so that he doesn't have to work hard. The earlier girls were better nourished, and girl number two Frederika had far more contusions than the other girls. I think Frederika gave him a very hard time. I think he is not a large or strong man; someone about Hatfield's size. Hatfield is perfect for him. He has all of the right perversions plus he doesn't present an intimidating counterpart to himself."

"Your line of reasoning follows well." Grissom nodded.

"I think after Frederika, he took more precautions. He was embarrassed by the trouble she gave him. It was counter to his perceptions of his own power and control. So he creates conditions where there is less potential for struggle. He starves them and he keeps them unconscious until he stores them."

"You talk like they're…." His voice trailed off.

"I'm in his head now. You know that. This case has gotten too personal for you."

Grissom smiled. "It is."

"You're in love with her."

Grissom's face colored and he looked away.

"I'm not trying to expose you. I just want you to know that I understand this…from personal experience."

Grissom arched one brow. "Really?"

"Yeah. Her name is Sam. She works in my unit. Great agent. Tough. Smart. Committed. I imagine Sara is much the same."

Grissom nodded slowly.

"I was stupid. Had an affair with her. I was married at the time. I hurt everyone with it. Sam, my now ex-wife, my two daughters."

"So you understand that I could never get too close to her."

"Yeah, I do. My life is certainly a cautionary tale of the dangers of interoffice romance."

Grissom nodded again, and started to turn, ready to resume his walk down the road.

"Gil, before you go, I want you to know that I am sorry I hurt everyone, but I'm not sorry it happened." Malone shifted uncomfortably.

Grissom wrinkled his brow at him.

"I loved her; probably still do. I just don't allow myself to think about it. But I can't be sorry about the love we shared. It was…wonderful."

"What are you telling me?"

"You're not married, Gil. You have no family to betray. You have a potentially awkward work situation, but that's all."

"You're a nosy bastard, you know that, Jack."

"We both know that the odds of finding her alive are not in her favor. So, of course, we are infused with thoughts about how precious life is; how it shouldn't be wasted. I'm just saying that it shifts our perspective on things."

"Does it shift your perspective on Sam?"

"You are not the only one battling fears about hurting someone. I think that I hurt her too much to try again."

"Before Sara was taken, I think we were at that point as well."

"So we stay paralyzed by our fears?" Jack said.

"You first, Malone. Call me when you open up to Sam, and then I'll take your cue and try it with Sara."

"So who's trying to live vicariously through whom?"

"You started it." Grissom managed a sad grin, and then lost it slowly. "Right now, this conversation is merely academic. She's still out there, and we don't even know if she's breathing."

"Sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

Grissom thought for a moment. "Truth is, I appreciate that someone around here can speak about her in the present tense."

"You grow up Catholic, Gil?"

Grissom nodded.

"Guilt's a bitch, isn't it?"

Grissom closed his eyes.

"Couple of grouchy, old men like ourselves want someone young and beautiful, but we have to shed our guilt first, don't we? They don't deserve our baggage."

He shook his head. "Call me when you figure that out, Malone." Grissom turned and resumed his walk, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Jack watched him disappear behind a hill.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

He had been calling her for three hours to no response. All he could see of her were her knees sticking out, and one hand that lay limp over the bed frame. He studied it carefully for any kind of conscious movement, but there was none. He cursed himself. His fear of Sara's will caused him to leave her alone too long. She would be no fun if she wasn't even conscious. He wondered if he had enough IV saline solution. He could tie her to a chair, and feed her the electrolytes until she was lucid again. He thrashed about the room in frustration. The set-up would take time, and he was feeling impatient. Finally he stalked off to collect the needed supplies.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Brass grabbed his phone out of his suit pocket. He listened carefully, pacing back and forth across the room. Danny furled his brow and hissed at him to say who it was. Brass ignored him. The only words out of his mouth were, "Are you sure?" Danny looked poised to snatch the phone from him at the earliest opportunity.

Brass pulled the phone off his ear and held it to his chest. "DNA came up a match for an Alberto Sanchez, Mexican National. One count of attempted rape in the first degree two years ago, California. Still waiting for Mexico to respond with information." Brass put the phone back on his ear.

Danny jumped up off the sofa arm where he was perched. "Last known address!" he demanded. Brass waved him away.

Then he cupped his phone again and spoke. "Cath says that they are trying to get more information out of your family, but they are busy and won't prioritize it. Can you talk to Mom and Dad, Danny?"

Danny grabbed his phone and punched in numbers. Soon he had the database people on the phone. He dispensed with greetings, and launched into the situation. He pleaded, threatened, and shouted them down until Jack came into the room and got briefed. He strode across the room, took the phone from Danny, introduced himself, demanded the information within the hour, and hung up.

Danny glared at him.

"Finesse, Danny, finesse." He shook his head. "Not everyone responds to street logic."

Danny narrowed his eyes.

Jack arched his brows. "Who are you looking at, Agent Taylor? Get going. Brass needs help. We'll set up headquarters here at the ranch, and create a perimeter of 100 miles in all directions. We need to coordinate with the locals, and bring our boys for support. Got it?"

Danny turned and sprinted for the living room.

"Danny!" he called before he got through the door. Danny stopped and turned.

"They did tell me they had already agreed to prioritize the information before I got on the phone. They were trying to tell you that when I grabbed the phone. Nevertheless, you remember the old adage; honey attracts more flies than vinegar."

A smile crept onto Danny's cool face. "Must have been written with you in mind." Without waiting for a response, he disappeared into the next room.

Jack smiled a little and wondered if he had been any different as a young agent. So much of Danny reminded him of himself.

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TBC


	9. chapter 9

Spoiler: Unbearable

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, inc.

Okay. Thanks to those of you who continue to follow this. It is soooo dramatic right now, but fun to write. My angsty soul is fulfilled with the suspense. I hope to not lose any of you. You are what makes it fun and real. Please hang in there. Your reviews mean a great deal to me.

Sheila

**Chapter 9**

**Afraid of the Light**

He dragged a chair into the room. Then he went back upstairs and carried down a armload of implements. Sara's arm lay lifeless over the bed. He reached over and pulled on it a little. He dropped it and it went limp again. He turned and set up the chair, twining an IV through the arms and hanging it over the back. There were leather straps nailed into the chair, and he opened them and laid them over the side so they would be ready to receive his victim. Once his set-up was complete, he went back to Sara and began to drag her from inside the mattress. It took some work to extricate her from the innards of the mattress. He hoisted her on top of the mattress, and laid her down. Carefully, he lifted a wrist and felt for a pulse. It was weak but steady. Her skin was cold with a bluish tint on her lips and fingernails. He slapped her cheek, but her eyes didn't open. He pulled her body to a sitting position and swung her arms over his shoulders. Putting his arms around her torso, and pulled her to a standing position, her head and arms draped over his shoulders. Like this, he began dragging her over to the chair. After a few steps, her slight frame became even less burdensome, and then he remembered Fredericka.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

"Hello. Miss. Hello." Brass barked into a speaker phone set up in the middle of the dusty living room. Deputies milled around the room quietly allowing Brass the respect of his contact. Danny stood next to him, wired, one hand absently combing his thatch of dark hair.

"Yes, what can I do for you?" came a young female voice.

"This is the Reno county land office, correct?"

"Yes, sir. What can I do for you?"

Miss, this is Jim Brass, Las Vegas Police. We need information regarding land purchases in the last year."

"Oooooh, I don't think I can do that for you, Mr. Brass."

"That's Captain Brass, and we are in the process of getting a warrant to your office as we speak. A woman's life is in danger, and we need information immediately."

"Sorry, wish I could help. Could you call back in 37 minutes, please?" The girl responded as if talking to someone in line at the grocery store. "Good-bye."

"No!" Brass yelled. "Do not hang up! This is important!"

"Mr. Brass, please control yourself. I can help you in 36 minutes and 23 seconds."

"You're serious? Okay. Let me try this…what's your name?"

"Shelly."

"Shelly, honey, can you please explain to me what 36 minutes is going to do to your helpfulness."

"That's when Miss Hastings gets back from lunch. She is the only one allowed to access the records on the computer. She doesn't let me touch the computer. Says I am flighty."

"Ahhh, I see. Well, Shelly, I need you to get Miss Hastings for me. Right away."

"I don't know. She'll probably kill me. She is very clear about her lunchtime."

"Honey, I swear to God that I will put you in jail if you don't go get her. Do you understand?"

"Can you do that?"

"If I do not hear Miss Hastings' voice in thirty seconds, you'll find out."

A clattering noise erupted over the phone and then silence. Brass prayed that she had merely dropped the phone. He looked at Danny whose eyes were wide in disbelief. Brass closed his eyes and counted seconds. Just when he was ready to send a squad to arrest the whole office, a voice came through the speakerphone.

"Hello." This was voice was considerably older than the young Shelly.

"Please tell me this is Miss Hastings."

"Yes it is. Shelly says it is an emergency which it better be as I was unable to finish my lunch."

"Miss Hastings, you can save a woman's life today. How does this strike you?"

"What do you need?" Brass blew a sigh of relief when she said this. It was clear that she was a no nonsense kind of woman.

"I need names of all individuals who purchased land in the last year in this county, focusing on land purchased outside of city limits."

"No problem. Give me a minute, please."

The silence was deafening. Danny was drumming his fingers on the table until Brass reached over and grabbed his arm.

"I'm back." The older woman said. "I have 76 names for you."

Brass licked his lips. "Narrow it to only men land owners." Danny furled his brow. Brass leaned over, "He would never lower himself to use a woman's name as an alias. It's all about the power." Danny nodded.

"That drops it to 49 names, Sir.'

"Miss Hastings, please confirm that Alberto Sanchez is not among the remaining names."

"No sir. There is no Alberto Sanchez."

"Any Hispanic names?"

"A Roberto Diaz, a Ernesto Villareal, and a Chico Garza."

Brass looked at Danny who shook his head. "Miss Hastings, please save those names and addresses. Anything else unusual?"

"What do you mean?"

"Unusual names. Names that seem false."

"Um, okay. There's a Warner Livingston, a Bernard Hosstrup, and a Hatfield Corcoran."

"God almighty! Did you say Hatfield Corcoran, ma'am?"

"Hatfield Corcoran purchased land on the northwest part of this county 8 months ago."

"Miss Hastings, I need the address now."

"County Road 19, 3 miles south of highway 23 intersection. Road isn't marked. You take a dirt road about 2 miles up into a canyon—"

"Miss Hastings, please tell this to the deputies who understand what you are talking about. How far is it from Reno?"

"About two hours."

Brass reeled around and looked at the deputies. One of them stepped forward. "I know the area. It's about 2 ½ hours from the ranch here."

Danny was on his feet. "Okay, we are out of here. Deputy, you take lead. Brass and I ride with you."

"Where's Grissom and Malone?"

"Out on the porch going over the transcript of Hatfield's confession." Reported a deputy.

"Grab'em. We're going to make Hatfield and Sanchez sorry that their fathers ever met their mothers."

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Sara absently dropped her arm as he dragged her over to the chair. She reached under the nightgown and pulled out the metal bar that she was holding between her knees. It wasn't heavy, but it was the only thing she had. She felt him tense and she knew that he felt her strength. She swung the bar over her head and hit him on the right temple. He howled and jumped back, holding his face. She wanted to run, but she knew it wasn't enough so she willed herself forward and she came at him. She was able to hit once more behind the ear before he grabbed her arm and pushed her back. She fell back onto the bed. She rolled away when she saw him fall on top. Everything happened in slow motion. She understood that she didn't really have the strength to beat him, but she couldn't stop. He dropped beside her, and she began hitting him with every ounce of adrenaline her body could produce. He alternately worked to protect his face and to throw punches at her.

Sara rose up in one last ditch attempt to overpower him. She wrenched her arm away from his hands, and landed the bar as hard as she could on his head. He screamed and threw his arms up to protect his face. Over and over, she rained blows on his head. Finally she realized he wasn't fighting back. She pushed away from him, and got to her feet. Dizziness reigned and she had to lean against the wall. He was still, sprawled on the bed, his face red and sore.

Sara slumped against the wall, and contemplated her next move. She didn't know how badly injured he was, but she didn't care. Part of her wanted to bang away at his head until she was sure he was dead, but she wasn't sure how much energy she had plus she couldn't bring herself to get near him again.

She pulled herself up the stairs. A flood of warm air hit her as she emerged from the basement and she sobbed her relief. A dark hallway opened into the kitchen. She had thought about what to do if she got out of the basement, but now she had a hard time organizing her thoughts. The kitchen was benign, no clues of the monstrous presence apparent among the flowered curtains and appliances. She ran to the refrigerator and opened it. Milk, juice, peanut butter, jelly, ketchup. She grabbed the peanut butter and the juice. On the counter, she found a loaf of bread. She found a paper bag, and she dropped in the bread, juice, and peanut butter. She knew she would need energy to get away from this place.

She looked around everywhere for keys, but she couldn't find a coat or keys anywhere. On the table was a basket of laundry, another indication of normalcy that didn't seem to belong. At the top of the basket were several pairs of tube socks. She shoved several pairs into the grocery bag. She thought about going into his bedroom and looking for the keys. Then a howl rose up from the basement. "Sara! Sara! You can't get away!"

She jumped and backed against the wall. All thoughts of finding keys left her. She ran through the kitchen and clawed at the door. It took her a few seconds to manipulate the lock.

"Fredericka did this to me, and I made it hard for her! Do you want that!"

Sara ran out the door into the sun of a Nevada day. She ran up to a truck in the driveway, hoping keys would be in the ignition. She tried the driver's side door, but it was locked. There was a dirt road she knew would open onto a highway. Behind her were the bare hills of a Nevada landscape. In her mind, she could picture him chasing her down the dirt road in his truck, and so she turned and ran for the hills. Beyond the yard, she turned. His outline filled the doorway of his house. He held a shovel in one hand and a shotgun in the other. She stumbled over some sagebrush and scraped her knee on a rock. She didn't even take time to register the pain. She pulled herself up, remembering to grab her grocery bag and started running again.

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

Grissom stared out the window of the squad car. Yellow, dry landscape rushed by. Brass was in the front seat harassing the deputy about speed, direction, anything that came to mind. Brass chattered constantly, most of it focused on the deputy's driving. Beside him, in the back, Danny sat, his arms folded tightly across his chest, and Jack Malone staring out the other window.

Grissom tried to focus on possibilities, but all he could imagine was the product of his trade; Sara cold and dead, her face betraying the torture she had endured. He imagined her cold fingers stiff and lifeless, her lips tinged with blue.

Catherine would process her. He would let her. Not because he wasn't capable. He would do it because Sara would prefer it. Her anger with him was still palpable and he believed it would be so in death as well. Catherine rode in the squad behind him. He wasn't ready for her piercing eyes; she who knew him better than anyone else. She would know his despair and he couldn't afford the exposure. She seemed to sense this, and allowed him the space he needed.

He remembered her as she was. Tall and lithe. Not so much walking, but striding through the lab. Confident in her skills and intelligence, but naïve when it came to human relationships. She brought so much heart to the work that she was always forgiven by colleagues for her brash, aggressive style. Her smile was a treasure and her laughter was intoxicating. He had taken her for granted for so long; content to have her at arm's length as long as he had her. He truly had no idea how he would have survived her leaving the lab. But now, the thought of her leaving was replaced with the idea of surviving her loss. The idea of it was overwhelming, and there were points when Grissom rubbed surreptitiously at his eyes. He did his best to isolate himself within his grief. He had no tools for sharing this anguish with others.

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	10. chapter 10

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, inc.

Spoiler: Unbearable

Thanks for the reviews. They kept me up late into the night finishing this chapter. I cannot tell how many more chapters there will be. I have having too much fun. I hope that you are enjoying the ride as much as I am. And yes, there is light at the end of the tunnel.

Sheila

Chapter 10

Afraid of the light

The ranch house was old. Years ago, it may have had a sunny color, but now there was nothing but bare evidence of it once was. It was isolated, the Sierra Nevada mountains to the east, and desert to the south. Brass had surrounded the house on all sides. It took time, a wait that Grissom found interminable. Catherine found him standing next to the car overlooking the house, and she slid her arm through his. At first he shuddered at the intimacy, but he could sense her need. With his free hand, he reached over and took her hand, sighing when she rested her head on his shoulder.

Danny paced up and back the length of the car. Grissom resisted an urge to trip him and send him flying. His manic energy was irritating him. Jack leaned against the car, arms folded, mute and unreadable. Brass stalked by, a walkie talkie pasted to his face. From time to time, he growled something into the receiver. Finally he stopped, looked at them and nodded. Then he started down the hill, alternating running with sliding down the sandy soil, grabbing brush for leverage as he went. They scrambled after him. Brass had warned Grissom and Catherine that he wouldn't have them in on the raid without firearms, and so they ran awkwardly, each carrying a gun they got off a deputy. Danny ran ahead and matched Brass' pace. They trotted as far as the front yard and stopped. Brass gestured with one arm, and a deputy ran up with a bullhorn. Brass turned and looked at Grissom for an instant, and then he began, "Alberto Sanchez, this is the Vegas police. We are serving a warrant on your house for the kidnapping of Sara Sidle and the murder of five women. Come out with your hands up."

Everyone waited silently, the wind whipping their jackets against their body. After 30 seconds, Brass repeated the warning. Thirty seconds later, he did it again, but there was no sign of life. Suddenly, he waved his arm, and a number of deputies swept past them to the front door. Danny joined their number. There was shouting and kicking, and then they were through the door fluidly, one after another, they disappeared into the house.

"They don't touch anything, Jim!" Grissom shouted.

Brass nodded. "They know."

Without waiting, Grissom trotted after them. Brass cursed and chased after him. They both disappeared into the house. Catherine looked at Malone, and he nodded. The two of them followed together.

Danny ran sideways down the basement steps, holding his gun outstretched in both hands. A clattering on the steps signaled the presence of deputies. Danny looked up and waved them back. He didn't want to risk their exposure to possible evidence. The basement was dark, but there was light in the corner coming from an open door. Hugging the wall, Danny eased over to the door. He heard a noise and looked up. Grissom was moving down the stairs toward him. Danny waved him away wildly, but Grissom ignored this and slid along the wall until he was crouching next to Taylor. He wanted to argue, but there was no time and Grissom's eyes were distant. Danny put up a hand and pantomimed counting. One finger went up and then another. On the third finger, they both moved.

Danny began yelling out, "FBI! FBI!" over and over. He slammed into the doorway and held this position, waving his gun in all directions. Recklessly, Grissom ran past him into the room. It was empty and cold. Concrete block walls. A tattered mattress sat in the middle of the room. Grissom slowly turned around, taking in the video camera and an intercom. The stench was foul. The mattress was thin and tore through the side. There were several blood spatters decorating the mattress cover. He reached down with a finger and ran it along a stain. He brought his finger up to his face, and saw the faint tint of fresh blood. Involuntarily, he shuddered. Off to the side, there was a chair, leather straps hanging down the sides. An IV bottle hung off the back. Blood spatter ran along the floor. Grissom pivoted and looked at Danny. "Don't come in. We need to preserve the scene." Then he pointed at the video camera. "Find that tape." Danny disappeared from the doorway. Grissom backed up until he too was in the doorway. He stood there, his eyes taking in every inch of the room. Nausea rose up from his stomach, but he ignored the sore taste that settled in his mouth. On the floor, he saw a hair. He bent down and picked it up. It was a long, brown hair. He sagged against the doorway. This was Sara. No test in the world could convince him otherwise. She had been in this cold, foul room, probably for days. He imagined that she had to endure taunts and constant surveillance, maybe even torture. He knew that she had been hungry and so cold; waiting and hoping that her friends and colleagues would come. She was in this room, probably 3-4 days living in terror, in pain, and alone. He had already let her down in so many ways, and this felt like the final betrayal. His chin trembled and he squeezed his eyes close, no longer able to hold his anguish at bay.

Catherine stood a few feet away. She knew better than to approach. He needed to be alone now with his thoughts and feelings. Her presence right now would be too electric, too raw for him. She backed away quietly, carrying the crime tape with her. She closed off the entire basement. Deputies brought crime scene kits to the door at her direction. The house was filled with people now; the stomp of boots everywhere. She needed to find Brass and get all of these guys cleared out. While she knew that the primary crime scene was in the basement, she suspected that there was much to find elsewhere in this quaint little home.

Her own feelings began to overflow, and she walked outside into the dry, windy day. Clouds had formed over the sun, and the wind suggested a coming storm. She stood in the middle of the dusty road and let the wind hit her wet face. She swallowed hard, standing there for a long minute before she pulled the cell phone from her belt. She hit buttons and put it to her ear. "Hey, this is Catherine. I am calling like I promised I would…No, we don't have her. We have the crime scene, but he and Sara are missing…It's hard to tell, we just got here…Grissom, well he's um…he's having a tough time…Warrick," she stopped for a moment, trying to suppress a sob. "I think it's going to be bad. I think it's going to be really bad." She rubbed at her face with her free hand. "I appreciate it, but that's not going to help. You need to stay right where you are. Understand….We're going to send samples. Malone got us a FBI helicopter, and we're going to load it up and send it off to you. You should expect something in the next 6-8 hours…'Rick, I'm going to need you to talk to Nicky and Greg. I don't think I can do it right now…Just tell them to keep hoping, okay?...I gotta go. Crime scene is waiting…Yeah, I'm watching out for him…I'm going to be okay. I have to be the strong one now. Just like you gotta be strong for the guys….I'll call you later, Rick. I promise."

………………………………………………………………………………………….

Danny stood outside with Malone and Brass. The wind was growing stronger and the leaves on the trees were whistling their discontent. He had his arms folded tightly, and he looked out onto the miles of desolate hills.

"He left in a hurry. He took tapes. He had tapes just like Hatfield; must have known we were close."

Brass shook his head. "His truck is still here."

"A second car?" Danny suggested.

"No, there is only one set of treads in the driveway."

"Door to the shed is open. Looks like a gun is missing off the rack. Maybe he's on foot." Jack had to raise his voice in order to be heard above the wind. In the distant, there was a flash of light and thunder sounded.

"Why? Why leave on foot? I don't get it." Brass threw his hands up.

"He takes her out into the desert and shoots her, buries her. There was an imprint of a shovel in the dirt, but no shovel."

"He forgot one video in the machine. Maybe answers are on this." Danny waved the bagged tape at them. They got silent for a moment. Watching the tape was necessary, but nobody wanted to sit in this man's house and watch it, in his chair, using his equipment.

Jack grabbed the tape. "I'll do it. I don't know her. That'll make it easier."

Brass looked away, wind whipping at his hair.

"Start searching the area." With that, Jack turned and went back into the house.

Danny licked his lips and looked at Brass. Brass brought the walkie talkie up to his mouth and started barking orders.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

The first forty minutes showed nothing but a still mattress with a body hiding underneath. The arm hanging out was long, slim, and bare. He would have thought she was naked except for the fringe of nightgown that peaked out with her knees. The audio was nothing but repeated calls to her by Sanchez. But the body didn't move, and Jack began to worry about what that might mean.

Behind him the bedroom door open, and he quickly hit pause. Grissom walked into the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Jack shook his head.

"I can help. I know her." Grissom looked around and pulled up an old wooden chair.

"Gil, this is a very bad idea."

"Nevertheless, I am here. So let's get going on this." With his head, he gestured at the TV.

Jack looked ready to argue the point, but finally he just let out a sigh and hit the forward button. "I've watched about 40-45 minutes. She has been like this the whole time. He provokes her over the intercom, but she doesn't move. I suspect she's unconscious…or something."

Grissom sucked in air sharply at the sight of her still form stuffed into the mattress. For another hour, they watched her lay motionless, and then Sanchez enters the room, dragging a chair and assorted supplies. He is a small man, dark hair. He is stocky, and walks with his legs out wide. He begins explaining to the still form that he has brought supplies to help revive her so that she can better participate in the "fun".

Jack paused the tape. "I don't think I have ever seen anything like this. It's visceral, a serial killer at work."

"Press play."

"Let's talk about this."

"Goddamit, Jack. I'm not leaving. Press play!" Grissom was shaking, he held his hands together tightly in an effort to still them. He dropped his face onto his folded hands and waited.

Jack hit play. Sanchez began dragging her out of the mattress and then propped her up. As he was dragging her to the chair, he saw her feet lift and plant themselves. Her arm came up, metal bar in hand, and hit him soundly. Grissom sat up straight, sucking in breath through his teeth.

The fight was quick, and it was clear that she had little strength. Grissom slapped the bed soundly when she hit him until he was unconscious. Then she staggered to her feet and lurched out of camera range.

"She did it!"

Jack said nothing in response. Almost immediately, Sanchez began to stir. For a moment, he just held his head and moaned. Then he pulled himself up, and began yelling threats at her. Then he too moved out of camera range.

Jack noted the time in the lower right hand corner. "Happened only 6 hours ago. Everything is still fresh."

"He chased her out into the desert."

"Yeah, and we think he has a shotgun."

Grissom was on his feet and out the door. Jack sighed wearily and followed him.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

It was raining hard outside; sheets of rain moving sideways. Lightening lit up the sky, and thunder was a constant growl in the distance. Brass stood under an overhang next to an old barn. Grissom ran through the rain toward him.

"She ran into the desert. He's chasing her." He shouted, gulping to breathe between sentences. He stood before Brass, water dripping down his face, hair plastered to his head. "She was still alive six hours ago."

Brass smiled. "Good!"

"Do you have a flashlight? I want to join the search."

Brass shook his head. "We wait until the rain slows. It's hard to see, and the man has a gun."

"I don't care!"

"Yes, I am positive you don't, but it's dangerous. Plus, there could be flash flooding." Brass was shouting over the rain pounding on the overhang.

Grissom shook his head. Then he spied a long flashlight in the corner behind Brass. He pushed Brass out of the way and grabbed it. Before Brass could react, he was running toward the vast expanse of desert. Brass cursed. He was debating whether to follow him when Malone came running at him.

"Grissom! He yelled. Brass pointed at the hills. Malone came under the shelter, breathing hard.

"He's a fool."

"He's in pain." Brass countered. "There are two fools out there. Danny went out before the rain started. He's the only one who didn't come back when I called them all in."

Jack slammed his hand into the old wood of the building. "Dammit!"

Brass put his hands up when he thought Jack was ready to bolt. "Don't go getting all hero on me, Jack. Someone needs to stay here and help me launch a proper search when the rain stops."

"I'm going to kill him!" Jack growled at the dense shower.

Brass nodded. "Good thinking. I'll alibi you."

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

Danny peered from beneath the hood of the rain poncho at the downpour. He was beginning to understand why Brass was so adamant about bringing them in out of the rain. He was unprepared for the onslaught of a desert rainstorm. Already a creek bed was filling with a river of water. His flashlight barely cut through the rain, and he found that he could only see 10-20 yards ahead of him at any given time. Despite this, he continued, climbing up rocks, flashing his light down hills, calling her name.

Up ahead, he saw a large rock leaning against a boulder creating an overhang. He headed toward eager to get out of the rain long enough to catch his bearings, maybe call Jack and listen while the Irishman tore him a new one. He jumped across a creek bed, and was almost swept away by the small stream he had to ford, but grabbed bushes and pulled himself across.

As he neared the shelter, he thought he saw a flash of something. He trained his flashlight on the rock and saw nothing. His eyes narrowed as he moved closer. Then, all of a sudden, he was there. A man came out of the shadows. He had a large shotgun in his arms, and he was training at Danny. Danny was fumbling through the poncho for his weapon when he saw the flash. The impact lifted him off his feet, throwing him against a rock. He struggled to orient himself. It was unclear to him what had just happened. The man walked toward him, raising the gun again. Danny tried to extricate his gun, but it was tangled in the poncho. His body betrayed him as he tried to get to his feet. A pain in his chest erupted, and he wondered if a large boulder had fallen on him. The man stopped before him and took careful aim. Danny knew he about to be shot in the head. He had no time left and nothing to lose. He started shouting at the man in Spanish. The small man's brows furled and he leaned in closer. Danny began yelling 'Alberto Sanchez, you are under arrest' over and over. He rolled a little unto his side. The man shook his head, smiling at him, and cocked the shotgun.

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	11. chapter 11

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, inc.

Spoiler: Unbearable

I am so tired. Don't be surprised if this chapter lacks a little something. I had trouble feeling a flow. We are moving somewhere, so please be patient. You are all so kind to come along with me. Again, your comments keep me writing, and I appreciate them so much.

Sheila

**Chapter 11**

**Afraid of the Light**

It was hard to breathe. Every inhale brought stabbing pain. Danny opened his eyes. The sky was orange, and the setting sun could be seen through the departing storm clouds. The ground was wet, but the sky was dry. He tried to shift but his chest screamed in protest. He was able to move one arm, and his hand traveled across his chest and settled on the area of pain. He lifted his hand, and saw what he feared. Blood dripped off his palm. He moaned his frustration. Again, he tried to lift his body up on his elbows, but he didn't have the strength to lift off the ground. A ringing began, and for a minute, Danny didn't differentiate from anything else around him. Slowly it dawned on him that this was a cell phone. His hand fanned across his body looking for his cell, but he felt nothing. The ringing seemed to originate on the left side of his body, and he couldn't reach it with his right. He tried to move his left arm, but the pain radiated from the wound on his chest, culminating in a howl. Slowly, wincing against the pain, he dragged his arm alongside his body until he found the smooth shape of his cell phone. He tried to raise the phone onto his chest, but the effort was excruciating. He was only able to prop it up against his body. He was then able to slide his right arm across his body until it connected with the plastic surface of the phone. Gripping it tightly he dragged it up to his face. The message light was flashing frantically, and with his right hand he stabbed at the recall button. For a moment, he couldn't discern if the phone was dialing, and then he got a familiar gruff voice. "Where the hell are you hiding?"

Danny was surprised at how dry his mouth had become. "Jack."

"Yeah. Were you expecting someone else?"

"I'm in trouble." His voice was a harsh whisper.

"Damn straight you are."

"I need help, Jack."

There was a silence on the other end. "Danny?"

"He shot me."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. "Danny, where are you?"

"I don't know. I'm bleeding."

"Where are you hit?"

"Upper right chest."

"Shit! Danny, you gotta help me here. Where do you think…what are the landmarks around you?"

"Mountains to the west…creek bed nearby."

Danny heard Jack shouting for maps and Brass.

"Jack, how long does it take for a man to bleed out?"

"Believe me, Danny, you're not that lucky. God wouldn't deny me the opportunity to tell you face to face what an idiotic stunt this was."

Danny grinned through the pain.

"Danny, talk to me." Jack sounded anxious.

"I saw him too late. He was right here."

"Is he still in the area?"

A wave of pain washed over Danny and he groaned.

"Danny?"

"I don't see him. I don't see Sara."

"Okay, you need to just relax. I have deputies who are trying to track the creek right now."

A gray curtain fell over Danny and he felt like he was floating. The phone slid off his chest, and he listened with some detachment as Jack called his name over and over. His eyes were heavy, and the anxiety in him lost its focus. He struggled to stay awake until he lost all sense of awareness of his circumstances.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Danny woke to tremendous pain in his chest. A weight was bearing down with some force. He howled his disapproval and tried to push at the weight.

"Easy, Danny."

Danny opened his heavy lids. He saw grey curls and a beard bending over him.

"Stop it." He groaned.

"You've lost too much blood. I'm afraid that direct pressure is the ticket until help gets here."

Danny's mouth was thick with thirst. "He was here, and he got away."

"He didn't get very far." Grissom was tearing his own shirt, and folding it tightly.

"You saw him?" It was all Danny could do to keep his eyes open.

Grissom brought the bundle down on top of Danny's wound. Danny moaned loudly.

Grissom was silent for a while, and then began talking, careful not to look at Danny's face. "He's dead. About a hundred yards from here. Two bullet holes in him. One in the head and one in his thigh. You don't remember this?"

Danny shook his head slowly.

Grissom picked up the poncho and showed Danny the big hole burned in the center of it. "You shot him through this."

"I don't remember."

"He probably shot you first, and you returned fire without thinking about it."

Danny remembered lying there in the rain fumbling with his poncho while the monster stood over him with a shotgun. He must have fired before losing consciousness.

"He's dead."

"Yeah."

"Sara?"

Grissom shook his head and shifted the pressure on the wound.

"You have to go look for her."

The older man pursed his lips and didn't answer.

"You don't have time. We have to find her."

Grissom sighed. "It's dusk, Danny. Be dark in fifteen minutes. No full moon."

"I killed him. Now he can't…lead us to her."

Grissom ignored him, keeping all of his attention on the wound. Already, it had bled through the many layers of Grissom's shirt, and Grissom shifted Danny so that he would have better access to the bullet hole.

"I'm sorry." Danny said, grimacing against the ache of movement.

"You did what you had to do."

"But—"

Grissom shook his head. "Danny, there was no guarantee that Sanchez would have lead us anywhere. My guess is that he liked games every bit as much as Hatfield."

There was shouting in the distance. Grissom rose to his knees and waved wildly. When he was certain that he had been spotted, he returned to Danny's pressure bandage. "Help's here, Danny."

Danny didn't hear him. He had again floated away from the pain.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

Catherine found him seated on the front steps of the Sanchez place looking out into the starry night. Despite the hour, lights were in the house, and a constant stream of deputies roamed the yard between the house and where Brass had set up a command post. She thought about wandering down there, but Brass' exhaustion had left him with nothing a snarl for most responses. Grissom seemed unaware that she was standing two feet away from him. She had a choice between Brass' growl and Grissom's silence. She chose silence. She sat next to him, and pulled her knees up close to her chest. "Kind of cold out here."

Grissom sighed and she cursed herself for reminding him that wherever she was, Sara was probably cold as well.

She licked her lips and tried again. "I just talked to Jack. Danny is stabilized. Still in serious condition, but it was a clean through and through. No major organs nicked."

She turned her face and looked at him. "He reminds me of you. Gruff exterior, but real love and concern for the people who work for him."

Grissom brought his hands up to his face and rubbed vigorously. "What day is it?"

"Wednesday, March 2nd, 2 a.m."

"Did I eat today? Do you remember?"

"You had a sandwich. I made sure you finished it. And you had an apple."

He nodded.

"The last of the evidence flew out four hours ago. Once it is processed, Warrick, Nicky, and Greg are headed up here."

He turned and glared at her. She threw her hands up. "They're not asking anyone for permission. They're just coming." Then she lowered her voice. "They have a right to be here."

He returned his attention to the starry sky. "Cath, if you were given five minutes with Eddie to tell him anything you wanted, what would you say?"

She let out a low whistle. "Uh…okay. I guess I would tell him that I loved him, and that I missed him. I would also tell him that it killed me watching him deteriorate the last years of his life. He used to be a kind man. I would tell him that this is how I will chose to remember him. Kind, exciting, handsome, loving, a good father."

He sat silent for a long time. Then he looked at her and said, "I would tell Sara that my heart aches for every second she's not there. I would tell her that I deserve that pain for the crap I've put her through all these years. I would tell her that, living or dead, she is my world."

Catherine dropped her head into her hands. "Good god, Gil, you are a mess."

Grissom ponders this idea for a moment and then nods. "Can you remember why I pushed her away all those years? I can't seem to remember what my reasoning was."

Her face rose up from her hands. "I think it centered around you being a big dork who was afraid of love."

"Yeah, that's it." He nodded gravely.

She chuckled. "If you get tired of forensics, we could rent you out as entertainment at parties."

"Do you wish you'd had a second chance with Eddie?"

"Gil, I had 39 chances with Eddie."

"I wish I had a second chance." He whispered.

"Come on." She took his arm and pulled him to his feet. She led him to the fleet of squad cars on Sanchez's land. She opened the door to one, and pushed him inside. "Close your eyes, Gil. I'm going to on watch for her tonight. I promise."

Grissom leaned back against the seat and let out a deep sigh. In seconds, he was asleep. She watched him for a few moments, and then walked off to deal to slay the dragon Brass.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

Jack Malone sat in the back of the squad car watching the landscape as it flew by. He appreciated the enormity of the view. He liked the mountains and the striking landscape everywhere. It was more majestic to him than the relative flat and dusty country around Vegas. The drive back out to the Sanchez ranch would take another hour or so. He knew that another opportunity to get uninterrupted sleep would not happen again for some time. But the events of the last few hours were too visceral to give him much peace.

Danny getting shot was almost more than his exhausted mind could process. The image of finding him laying there, blood soaking his entire chest, and Grissom trying to stem blood flow flashed itself over and over in his mind. Jack had held his breath all the way to the hospital worried that Danny would bleed out or arrest on the way in. But his agent made it all the way in without a crisis. Despite his repeated outbursts about Danny's foolishness, he felt nothing but relief when the emergency room doctor reported that he was stabilized.

Danny lie in a hospital bed now with any many drugs in him as the doctors dared. Danny would do nothing but sleep for at least another day. Jack wanted to follow the same impulse, but his body was too wired with adrenaline to relax. He got no more than 2 hours seated at Danny's bedside and then he was up and ready to go. It was clear to him that a brown haired woman named Sara was becoming very important to him.

He settled his head against the backrest and tried to relax himself long enough to get a few more minutes rest. He remembered that he hadn't called New York and he cursed himself. Avoiding this any longer would mean frustration among a staff that already was less than impressed with his communication skills. He thought about whose cell to call and then settled on calm, mature Vivian. He brought the phone to his ear and waited for her voice. "Hey Viv, this is Jack. How's it going?...How are things on the Stevens case?...Good work. Tell Martin I said that…Don't really know when I am getting back. Still looking for the woman, Sara Sidle….We got Hatfield's partner though. Actually Danny got him. Shot him dead…Say Viv, I should tell you that Danny got shot as well…No, no, he's going to make it. Doctors have stopped the bleeding. No major organs were pierced. He's going to be his old self very soon…Shot in the chest, actually the upper right quadrant, near the collarbone…Really Viv, he's going to be just fine. I promise…No, nobody needs to come to Reno. You all have plenty to do…Yeah, sort of a long story. Suffice to say, our boy Danny is not a cautious man. Went chasing after Sanchez without back-up. Nearly got himself killed…Oh, he'll be hearing about it. I guarantee that…No Viv, he's sleeping…I promise. If anything changes I'll call…Me? I'm okay. It's a..well, nobody's getting much sleep. Tell everyone that Danny is good. Okay? Talk to you soon…Bye Viv."

He pocketed his phone and leaned back against the seat. They were nearing the ranch. His sleepy eyes caught a flash of white as he was passing a large oak in a meadow off the road. His eyes started to close, and then he thought about what he saw. He thrust forward as if catapulted, and yelled, "Turn around now!"

TBC

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	12. chapter 12

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, Inc.

Spoiler: Unbearable

I am so tired. I hope this is coherent. It is not all resolved. Are you groaning or hanging in there with interest? Grissom and Sara are still not on the same page. Danny isn't disappearing. We haven't seen the last of Hatfield either. This should finish in 16-20 chapters. Your reviews are sweet and meaningful. A shout out to Taletha who always takes time to comment specifically. You are all so great. Thanks!

Sheila

**Chapter 12**

**Afraid of the Light**

As the squad neared the meadow, Jack had a hard time finding any trace of what he had glimpsed. Every ounce of his exhaustion told him that he had hallucinated, but his gut told him different. He told the driver to park on the road and wait for him. He climbed out and began walking carefully through the meadow. This was a rocky soil, and Jack found himself wishing he was wearing appropriate footwear. He saw no movement around the oak initially. Then a fluttering of white fabric appeared. His heart skipped a beat. He walked faster and then began trotting. The white fabric came into view as he came closer to the oak. Then he saw a leg outstretched and an arm. He rounded the oak, and he found a woman sitting on the ground against the tree. At first glance, it looked idyllic as if she in her nightgown was posing. A second glance told a much different story. Bruises, scratches, and cuts were visible on her arms and legs. She looked up at him with one side of her face fading purple into yellow. Stringy hair fell into her face. She wore layers upon layers of tube socks on her feet, but they were torn and caked with blood from her escape.

A low voice sounded. "I'm too tired to run, but don't think I won't fight." Despite her bravado, he could see her hands shaking.

"You are safe, Sara."

She locked a glare on him.

"I am Agent Jack Malone, FBI." She didn't waver. "I work with Danny. I am friends with your boss, Gil, and Jim Brass."

Her shaking increased. Jack knew that sometimes being found was as traumatic as being taken. The emotional energy it took to reunite, the effort to stay calm for loved ones, and then realizing that despite the rescue, the terror wasn't leaving anytime soon. She had been through a great deal, and he saw how important it was to ease her into this transition.

"I'm Sara Sidle, Las Vegas Crime Lab." Her voice cracked.

"You look tired, hungry. Can I do something for you?"

She picked up the empty jar of peanut butter for him to see. "I'm cold."

Jack stepped away from the tree and signaled to the driver leaning against the car. The deputy came jogging over. Jack barked, "I need blankets…and water…ah, and contact Captain Brass" He noticed that she stiffened. "Tell him that…we are searching the quadrant north of the ranch…and nothing more. Understood?" The deputy nodded and ran for the squad. In a minute, he came back at a full run with a wool blanket, a cotton one, and a bottle of water. Jack took them, nodded at the deputy, and then gestured for him to return to the car.

He turned to Sara who had pulled her knees up to her chest. He took the cotton one, and carefully draped it over her shoulders, helping her cover the rest of her body. Then he used the wool blanket as a second coat. He held the water to her, and she drank greedily. She took the water from him and clasped it to herself inside the blankets. She looked up at him. "I'm still cold."

He nodded. "It's going to take some time, Sara. You probably have some hypothermia. We should really get you to a hospital."

She looked away.

Jack changed tactics. "Can I sit down?"

She nodded. He settled in against the tree next to her close enough to abut her blankets so as to add his body heat.

"It's going to be nice to sleep without fear, don't you think, Sara?"

She snorted. "You don't know how I slept before this happened."

Jack began to understand the connection Danny felt with her. "A lot of people will be sleeping hard tonight just knowing that you're still alive." He could see that this soothed her a little. "It's been nice to meet your colleagues. You work with some damned good people." He detected something of a relaxing in her face.

"It's been hard on them?"

"Hell, yes."

"I'm sorry."

He scrunched up his face. "I think we'll go to Hatfield for any apologies we need."

"The other one is still looking for me."

He caught her eye. "No, he's not. Danny shot him last night. He's dead." He would leave Danny's condition for later.

Her eyes widened. For a moment all she did was stare at him. "This will be no more chasing and fighting for airtight cases, and useless interrogations."

Jack smiled a little. "Sanchez is dead. Hatfield confessed. They are gone from your life forever."

"His name was Sanchez?"

"Just remember that he's gone."

She turned away from him, blinking hard. The sobbing would come later. She was still too tightly wound to let go.

"Is Grissom here?"

Jack chuckled. "What do you think?"

"Is he okay?"

He shrugged. "He's exhausted and scared. But my guess is that he's going to take a turn for the better in the next hour or so."

"I don't really know how it happened."

He reached over and patted her knee. "Don't worry about it, Sara. There's plenty of time for all that."

The two of them lapsed into a companionable silence. A grin spread across Malone's face. Sara spied it and looked at him in confusion. He chuckled. "I was just thinking about something." He saw that her eyes didn't leave him. "I was just thinking that I never have time to watch T.V. I'm too busy. I like T.V. though. Sometimes, late at night when I get home and I need a distraction, I turn it on. I always head straight for the Travel Channel; the ultimate escape, you know?" He could see that he still had her attention so he continued. "There's these shows: ten best this and ten best that. Anyway, one night I'm watching and this show comes on showing the ten best something and they go to this hotel in Mexico; beautiful beaches, crystal clear water, someone around to serve your every need. And then there is the pool. Huge pool and in the middle of it sits a bar. And there are people wading up to this bar, and getting this ridiculous rum drinks. And then they wade away; bright smiles on everyone's face. And I can't get rid of that image. Sometimes, at night, I dream about that pool. I've convinced myself that two-three days at that pool and I would be a new man." He chuckled. "Of course, there is never any time to go. And then, there's the issue of taking someone to share it with."

Sara had relaxed considerably. He felt her leaning against him.

"I would go." She spoke in a husky voice. "I would go in a heartbeat."

He smiled. "Who else should we take?"

"Oh, I think a lot of people would need to go; Brass, for sure, and Danny. I would bring Catherine because I don't want her to be angry with me anymore. Greg, Nicky, and Warrick would come because they are fun, and they need the break."

"What about Grissom?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I don't know if it would be something he would like."

"Would you want him there?"

She closed her eyes. "Only if he wanted to be there."

"Can I bring my team with? They could really use the break."

She gave him her first smile. It turned to a wince as she found the stiffness in her bruised face. "I think we would all have a great time. We would be rowdy, and then the Mexican police would be called. And you and Danny and Brass would be waving your badges around like we're on a case, and then we would start the party all over again."

What happens in Mexico, stays in Mexico. Right?"

She nodded. They drifted back into silence. Finally she spoke. "I feel like Hatfield has a better chance at that vacation than we do. You know?"

"Yeah."

He heard voices from the road. He swiveled around and looked. Cars were parking along the side. People were piling out. "Damn! I thought that kid understood that we were only telling Brass that we were searching."

"Jim heard it in his voice. He's like that."

"Are you ready?"

She shrugged, burrowing deeper inside the blankets. Jack scrambled to his feet, and trotted out to meet the group starting down the embankment into the meadow. He held up a hand stopping them in the yellow grass.

"What do you have?" Brass demanded.

Jack looked at the gathered; Brass, Grissom, Catherine, suits, and uniforms behind them. "She's here."

"And she's dead." Grissom spoke in a harsh whisper.

"No." Jack grinned. "She's very much alive. But she doesn't need a circus. This is going to overwhelm her."

"Does she need a hospital?" Catherine asked.

"Yes, hypothermia, cuts, malnutrition, dehydration."

Catherine nodded and ran back up to the cars.

"Please." Grissom said. Jack gestured at the oak tree with his head. He caught Brass' eye and saw that they were in tacit agreement. Grissom walked to the tree alone. He swallowed hard when he came into view and he saw her huddled against the tree in a sea of blankets. She lifted her head to look at him. A rush of emotions flooded him, and he found it impossible to speak. He knelt down before her and smiled. He didn't notice the moisture on his cheeks. He reached over with his good hand, and touched the bruised side of her face. She flinched a little, but held still as he felt her hairline for injuries.

"He didn't hurt me bad." Her eyes stayed dry and bright.

Grissom closed his eyes, biting his lip. With the same hand, he pulled the blankets open. He took a sharp breath when he saw her thin, bruised arms. He swept the blanket off her feet and saw the blood encrusted socks. At the bottom of her feet, the socks had worn through, and her feet were a collage of cuts and bruises, bits of cotton stuck to them. He wanted to touch them, massage the pain away, but he knew it would hurt her too much. He sat back on his heels, and rested his chin in his hand. A pale, thin arm reached over, and touched the tears on his cheeks. He put his hand over hers and pressed it into his face.

"Do you think we can be friends again?"

He nodded.

"Don't leave me."

He cleared his throat before he tried to speak. "I never wanted to, Sara."

She spied his splinted hand and reached out to touch it. "This happened when you hit the wall back at the lab. You were so angry and I didn't understand why."

"It seems like a long time ago. I can't think how many days it's been since I last saw you."

"Me neither."

"Losing you made me angry that day. Finding out you'd been taken was terrifying. I can't tell you what it means to be talking to you right now." His voice rose as he spoke.

There was a noise behind them, and Sara's eyes widened. Grissom turned to see paramedics and a gurney waiting for her. "They want to get you to the hospital."

"I'm ready."

"There are things I want to tell you."

She pulled her hand away from his face. "We have time, Griss. Let's take it slow. We'll learn to be friends again."

Grissom sat back and let them work on her. He felt every wince she registered on her face and the moans she made as they moved her. He kept a hand on her as they carried the stretcher out of the meadow. Without a word, he climbed into the ambulance with her, and without a word they let him. He leaned his head on a shelf for a moment, and didn't wake until the paramedic shook him at the hospital.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

TBC


	13. chapter 13

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, Inc.

Spoiler: Unbearable

I have been stuck, but things unraveled for this chapter this morning. Next chapter is another story. Don't expect anything 'til Wednesday at the earliest. So very busy.

Thanks for the reviews. I wish I was organized enough to mention everyone, but I am addicted to the words you write. And the feedback is helpful. Leslie was observant to notice that the end of the chapter was rushed. I got lost and left it with what I had. Thanks for taking the time to really feel the chapter, Les.

Sheila

**Chapter 13**

**Afraid of the Light**

The thirst she felt was terrible. Her throat had become swollen and painful. The pounding in her head was interminable. She lay in the mattress and stayed still when she would have done almost anything for a glass of water. Several times, she considered calling for the monster. He would bring her water. What else he would bring seemed to pale in comparison to the relief of drinking down the cool liquid. She tried not to cry as there were no tears left to relieve the irritation in her eyes.

Laying still was yet another layer of torture for her. Sara Sidle was a woman in constant movement, and laying still trapped her in all of her fears and emotions. She ached to tear away the mattress and start railing away from her attacker. She would scream for water. She would challenge him to come down and face her. She would make a last stand, and end it once and for all; no more pain or thirst or cold or terror. Her victory would be in giving him a taste of what he was giving her. She knew she wouldn't last very long, but it didn't matter. It was time to end it.

Then he showed up and she was arguing. Grissom stood in the room. He had a case file with him; little George Weston, four years old. She remembered him. Little boy dead. Trauma to the head. Dad claimed he fell down the stairs to the basement, but Georgie's bruises told another story. Georgie had healed fractures, scars, old contusions. To Sara, Georgie's body told a very clear story. But dad had already retained a lawyer, and Grissom wouldn't budge. They would wait. There were still forensics to gather and people to interview. Evidence of prior acts of abuse was crucial to the case. Someone had to have seen Georgie being hit. Sara complained. She threw veiled barbs about his lack of concern for this child, but he didn't flinch. He just waited until she finished her tantrum. He gestured for her to sit, and then he sat, took his glasses off, folded his hands in front of him and said, "The two most powerful warriors are time and patience. Tolstoy. These are the warriors that will avenge George Weston." She blinked at him in confusion, but he had nothing further to say. He put his glasses back on and walked away. She stayed and struggled with his words.

"But Grissom," she shouted into the mattress. "This time it doesn't apply. It's too much. You don't understand."

Grissom turned back to her. "Georgie's dad is serving 25 to life."

"It's not the same. I am in a living hell."

"I'm counting on you, Sara. 'All human wisdom is summed up in two words- wait and hope, Alexandre Dumas'".

"Shut up with your idiotic quotes! You're not here."

"I'm coming, Sara. And I expect you to be there when I arrive. Understand?"

"Cold Bastard!"

"Perhaps. But I know you can do this. Don't disappoint me, Sara."

She collapsed into dry sobs in the cheap polyester fill. When she was finished, she lay still again, resolved not to summon the monster for any reason.

From far away, someone was shaking her gently. She pulled back violently and sat up, breathing hard.

"Sara, it's a dream. You're safe."

Her vision slowly cleared and she was looking into the face of Jim Brass. Dreams, memories, hallucinations, reality, all had become one. He sat next to her bed, in a white shirt, collar unbuttoned. His eyes were lined and heavy, more than she had remembered.

"It's okay, Sara. I promise." He was careful not to touch her.

She looked around and saw that the cinder block room was gone. White walls and a T.V. attached to the wall was her new scenery. She turned more and was blinded by the sun coming in from a large window.

"What's real?" she whispered.

He smiled. "You are real. And, God help me, but I'm real too. In fact, when you yelled, "Cold Bastard!" I had to look around for my ex-wife. That was my designated name the last year of our marriage."

She stared at him with narrowed eyes.

"Take your time. It's an adjustment. Terror is a visceral emotion. It's hard to exorcise it from your psyche."

She wrinkled her brow.

"Yeah, I know. I wrote it down after the psychiatrist talked to us when you first came in. Jack said you would need to come back to us in steps. I barely know what it means, but it just sort of trips off the tongue, and makes me feel like one of you nerds."

"He's really gone?" Her voice stayed a whisper as if unable to trust the fragile nature of this salvation.

Brass leaned in and stared into her eyes. "Yeah, honey, he's gone."

"I'm thirsty."

Brass reached over for the Styrofoam container of water and put a straw in. He handed it to her. Sara drank voraciously. She still clutched it after she was finished.

"Grissom was here." She looked around the room.

"He was. He was a menace to the doctors trying to evaluate your condition. Kept muscling in, trying to talk to you. They finally had to bounce him from the room."

"Where did he go?"

Brass grinned wide. "Well, as soon as you were stabilized, Catherine dragged him up to fourth floor to see an orthopedic surgeon about his hand. Oh, he was crabby. Told all sorts of lies about how it was feeling. But an x-ray told the real story. Surgeon told him that he was going to trust the evidence. Using that against Grissom must have stung. Sort of wish I had been there. Anyway, crabby guy went into surgery and had his bone broken again and a pin inserted. Very unpleasant experience I assure you. Very painful."

She winced.

"Yeah, they had to load him up on Demerol. He's going to be on the big guns for a couple of days until the pain subsides. In fact, he's staying here. His blood pressure was in the stratosphere, and he was almost as dehydrated as you were."

She nodded. Her face was gaunt and her eyes looked dark and hollow, but Brass felt like she starting to focus in on the present.

"Where is he?"

Brass' eyebrows rose. "Got a surprise for you there." He leaned back and grasped the curtain separating her portion of the room. He gave it a tug, and it opened to reveal a furry face lying on the bed beside her. He lay on his back, his cast resting on his stomach. In and out, he was snoring gently.

"I wondered what that sound was." Sara said.

Brass rolled his eyes. "It gets worse. I promise you. I've been sitting here for three hours, trying to restrain myself from smothering him with a pillow." He looked at her again. "It's a little unorthodox, Catherine's idea. She feels like he's going to go nuts if he isn't able to monitor your progress and vice versa. Besides, three hospital rooms are too many for us to all monitor."

"What?"

"Danny's down the hall, you know."

A look of distress crossed her face.

"Oh, hell, Sara. I'm sorry. I thought you knew." He furled his heavy brows. "Ah, he got shot before he killed Sanchez."

She nodded, eyes wide.

"Yeah, but he's going to be okay. Lost a lot of blood, but no organs were hit. He's stable right now. Just sleeping a lot."

"Any other news?" Her delivery was dry, but he sensed just a little of the old Sara.

He laughed. "I think that's about it. Nick, Greg, and Warrick showed. Warrick has a friend. Got us a block of rooms at a hotel for almost nothing. We're taking shifts checking on all of you. The rest of the time, everyone is sleeping like the dead."

She swallowed and for the first time, it didn't hurt. She smiled as much as her bruised face allowed. "Thank you."

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

Across the ward, another reluctant patient was waking. His eyes opened as slits, and the dark shadows under his eye gave him an eerie look. He blinked and slowly took in the room around him. Blonde hair and a smile blocked his view.

"Hey Danny."

"Sam?" he croaked. Then he mumbled something unintelligibly.

She laughed. "You're a mess, Danny Taylor."

"How did you get here?" He narrowed his eyes in an effort to focus better.

"Same way you did."

"You were shot?" He tried to raise his head.

She was there, gently pushing him back into his pillow. "I took a plane, silly."

He screwed up his brows. "I got shot."

"I noticed." She couldn't help the grin that kept stretching her face.

He smacked his dry lips. "Jack says I'm an idiot."

"Truth hurts, doesn't it, little brother."

He made a face. "Surprised he let you come."

She bit her lip and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "He doesn't know."

Danny's tired eyes widened.

She shrugged. "He'll figure it out soon enough. We were tired of the 'Malone Reports' back at the office. The answer to every question was, 'he's fine' followed by an interrogation regarding all of our ongoing cases. Vivian had enough and cussed him out yesterday. Said she wanted real information. We decided that the real story wasn't going to get told unless one of us was on the scene. I drew the short straw."

"Yeah, but there are cases—"

She groaned. "Don't give me the Malone lecture. New York is fine. In your absence, some of the cases got kicked to New Jersey. Martin is running the only active we've got and Viv is doing all the follow-up. I figure I have two days before it becomes overwhelming. Besides I brought work with me."

"He's gonna blow."

"So What? We were worried. All of us. Martin is working around the clock, but he still calls Viv every hour for an update on you. And all we get from Jack is, 'he's fine'. Do you understand that if you were in a coma right now, his update would still be 'he's going to be fine?"

Emotion rose up in Danny's throat, but he held it there tightly.

"You're family, Danny. We can't just survive on 'he's fine."

Samantha knew what she was saying to him, and waited quietly while he cleared his throat and composed himself.

She was about to start teasing him again when the door to his room pushed open. A man with clean cut hair looked in. He grinned wide when he saw Danny, and his eyes popped open upon seeing Samantha.

"Oooh, Taylor, I had no idea that you'd have girls in your room already. There's rules here, you know. Nurses are crabby about this sort of thing. Want me to stand outside and guard the door for you?" He teased.

Danny gestured with his head before the man could withdraw. The handsome man walked in holding a box.

Danny turned to Sam. "This is Nick Stokes, Vegas crime lab. Nick, this is Samantha Spade, NewYork office, FBI."

Nicky strode over, shifted the box onto one knee and shook her hand.

"Sam is my friend." Danny said as clarification.

"Nice to meet you." Nick gave her Texas down home hospitality.

"When did you get here?"

"Yesterday." Nick placed the box at the end of the bed.

"How's Sara?"

"Just checked. She's sleeping. Grissom was awake though but really groggy. Asked him how he was, and he glared at me like I was responsible for every wrong turn his life has ever taken. So I thought I would give him a little space."

Danny turned to Sam. "Grissom is Sara's boss. Broke his hand. They had to do surgery. Right?"

Nick nodded.

"Where's Jack?"

Nicky grinned. "Warrick got us a block of rooms at a motel called the Hideaway. Everyone has a bed, and is sleeping hard. Jack is in there somewhere."

"What are you doing here?" Danny raised an eyebrow.

"My turn to run herd on the injured list. Brought something to pass the time." Nick pulled a Playstation out of the box and a handful of games. "Rented it at the motel office. Thought I would see just what kind of hand-eye coordination the FBI is fostering these days."

Without another word, Nick climbed up to the T.V. and began attaching wires. Danny grinned. "You know I have only one good arm to use."

"Yeah, Taylor, with you, there will always be some excuse. I'll play one handed. Hell, I'll go blindfolded if it'll stop your belly aching."

"The honor of the unit is at stake." Sam teased Danny. Nick turned on the T.V. and climbed down off the chair. He made a few more adjustments and then turned to his audience.

"You ready, Boy."

Danny leaned up while Sam adjusted his pillow. Then he took the proffered controls. Nicky winked at them, and then settled himself into a chair.

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

She was cold. Really cold. It was everywhere, inside and out. Her bones ached and every joint was stiff and sore. Every inch of her was shaking from the icy temperature. She rubbed furiously at her arms and legs, but it made no impact. The nightgown provided almost no protection, and the mattress felt almost as cold as the air. She shifted over and over trying to find respite.

"Sara!"

She lifted her sleepy head from the pillow and opened her eyes. A groggy Grissom was watching her from the next bed.

"I'm cold." She complained.

It took him a minute to register the information. "It's not cold in here, Sara." He lifted a matted head of curls. "You're having a physio-io-logical reaction to trauma. Your…body doesn't yet realize that it's safe. It's…reliving….the trauma of…" He rubbed at his eyes with his good hand.

She buried herself under the blankets of her bed. Grissom pulled himself on one elbow. The aching in his left hand began immediately. Pulling it tightly against his middle, he struggled to get upright. He slid off the bed and padded over to hers.

"Sara. Let me in."

Her head peeked up from under the blankets with a puzzled look on her face.

"Studies say that we should sleep together." His words ran together as if liquid. Without waiting for an answer, he began to climb in with her.

"What?" She shifted so he could get in.

"Studies," he repeated as if the subject needed no further clarification.

"Why do studies say that?" She couldn't grab a handle on the conversation or why they were having it. With much painful groaning, he was able to get comfortable on his side. He carefully draped his cast over her body.

"Pull the covers up." He said. She did and he nuzzled his face into her neck.

"Studies don't say this." She murmured.

"Yeah they do." There was a silence as he shifted himself against her back. "Um…night terrors are lessened when a safe person is in physical contact with the person while dreaming. Read it somewhere. Never wrong about this stuff, you know."

"I think they like it one person to a bed around here." Sara couldn't help but notice that she had stopped shaking and that her body was starting to warm.

"They should read that article then." He mumbled into her neck. A gentle snoring followed quickly. The heat of his breath on her neck was enough to calm any remaining questions she had about mysterious studies. Soon, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

TBC


	14. chapter 14

Disclaimer: these characters are the property of CBS, inc.

Spoiler: Unbearable.

This is a little longer. I won't have time to post again until Sunday. I hope tomorrow's CSI is a good one. I will miss it and WaT. So sad. Family event. In the meantime, I hope I am keeping your attention. There is no immediate wrapping up of events. I feel like I can't use Danny as a device and then drop him as if he didn't mean anything. Plus all these people came to Reno. I can't just let them sit there. They need something to do. Your reviews are so encouraging. I work with kids in crisis, some homeless kids, during the day. Love it. But am so tired when I get home. I so look forward to your words of appreciation. Thank you.

Sheila

**Chapter 14**

**Afraid of the Light**

The nurse poked her head in the door. On the wall were the frantic noises of a speedway. Danny lay asleep in his bed, but Sam and Nicky were furiously manipulating controls elbow to elbow. The screech of a car accident and Nick was on his feet, jumping up and down, doing his best to keep his cheering subdued. Danny never stirred during the impromptu celebration. Sam rolled her eyes at the display and then caught the glare in the nurse's eyes and tugged on Nick's jeans. He saw the stern woman and squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment, sinking back into his chair. The nurse cocked her head, and then beckoned with her forefinger. Nick sighed heavily and followed her out into the hall.

"I'm sorry. Promise to keep it down from now on." He apologized as soon as the door shut behind him.

"Oh, believe me, that little circus is on my list, but right now, we have a bigger problem." She beckoned and Nick followed the nurse down the hall. She turned into Sara's room, and pointed at the improbable sight of Grissom spooning Sara on a twin sized hospital bed. Nick's eyebrows flew up into his forehead.

"I have asked Mr. Grissom twice to vacate Miss Sidle's bed and return to his own. He refuses to comply."

Nicky wrinkled his brow. "And you want me to do…what?"

"You're his friend, colleague. Perhaps, he would listen to you."

Grissom and I, friends? Colleagues maybe, but I wouldn't bet the farm."

She planted her hands on her rather substantial hips and glared at him. "Do you want me to call the police and report that we have a noncompliant patient and a possible assault?"

Nick put his hands up. "Now hold on, Ma'am, I don't see anything criminal going right now. Let me see what I can do."

Nick approached the bed carefully. He thought about nudging Grissom's shoulder, but thought that might stir his hand. Instead, he leaned over. "Griss? Ah, Griss?"

Grissom's head shifted and one blue eye opened reluctantly.

"Ah, the nurse here wants to get you in your own bed, okay?"

Grissom mumbled, "Tell her to go away."

Nicky snorted. "Don't think she wants to."

"I'm doing research here." Came another mumbled reply.

"Must be some study, Grissom." A grin was beginning to form at the edges of Nicky's mouth.

"Better for Sara. She's sleeping well now." Grissom closed his eyes and buried his head again in a pillow. Sara snuggled back into his chest.

Nick turned to her and shrugged. "I think we better leave them."

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "The rules are around for a reason, Mr. Stokes."

"She's probably sleeping the best she has in weeks. If they're happy, leave 'em." A tinge of annoyance masked his down home manners.

She folded her arms and gave him a hard stare. "Are they involved?"

Nick blinked for a moment. "Ah, yes they are. Engaged, in fact. Nuptials planned for late summer. Can't live without one another. She probably wouldn't know what to do without him laying by her side."

"They don't look like they suit one another." She had a sour look on her face.

Nick threw his arms up. "Well, that's love for you. You find it where you least expect it."

"I still don't like it."

"That's okay, Ma'am. They do, and that's what matters. Right?" He steered her toward the door. "Now I believe we have the other matter of unauthorized video gaming down the hall. Let's put your considerable energies into that infraction. Shall we?" He guided the reluctant nurse down the hall.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

Brass' eyes were blurry despite the long shower he had taken. He wondered if maybe he shouldn't just go back to bed. But the glare of the sun peeking through the edges of his curtains and the sounds of laughter outside his door had him curious. He opened his door and blinked hard at the sharp daylight. The motel was built around a large pool. When his eyes adjusted, he saw a collection of familiar characters seated at a table next to the pool. He ran his fingers through his wet hair and ambled over.

Catherine, Warrick, and Nick were sitting around the table with a lovely blonde woman. They seemed to be enjoying a story Nicky was telling. He caught the tail end of it. "…and I said, Ma'am, they seem to be doing fine, why don't you come down the hall and put your considerable energies into the illegal video gaming we have going on down there."

Another wave of laughter erupted.

"You should have seen it when she came in," The blonde continued the story. "She ripped the playstation right out of the T.V., stuffed it in a box, and then marched out."

Warrick slapped his knee and threw back his head in laughter. Catherine leaned back in her chair in a tank top, sunglasses on, and laughed hard. She spied Brass and sat up.

"Jim! Come join us. We're having a little unauthorized fun."

He dragged a chair over and positioned it under the shadow of the large table umbrella. The blonde leaned over and shook his hand, introducing herself as Sam Spade. His eyebrows rose at this improbable name.

"Sounds like I'm missing a good story."

Catherine gave him a wide smile. Brass knew that, with few exceptions, this woman could have any man she wanted, and he got a kick out of being a part of this woman's inner circle. "Wanna hear it?" She teased.

"Lay it on me, Sister." He drawled.

She handed him an empty tall neck, and looked over her shoulder. "First, we're going to need five more counting you. Lounge is that way." She gestured with her head.

He shook his head and headed off in the area of the motel lounge. Catherine called after him. "Here's a clue. Keep all your weekends free come August or September. Nick announced an engagement today." He stopped and furled his heavy brows, but got no illumination from his smiling friend. Then he disappeared into the lounge.

Catherine turned her attention to Warrick. "Your friend's got a nice little place here."

"Yeah, she does."

"She?"

"Desiree used to be a showgirl in Vegas."

"A showgirl?" Catherine put her finger up to the bridge of her nose and drew her glasses down, catching his emerald eyes with hers.

Warrick looked her straight in the eyes. "Is that a problem…Boss?"

She pushed the shades back up on her eyes and leaned back. "You and I are going to have a long talk about this one day real soon."

He blinked, exchanging looks with Nick. "Well, all right then." He picked up his beer and downed the rest of it, and thenhe set it down, wearing a slightly bewildered look on his face.

Sam watched as if at a tennis match. She had no idea of what the dynamics were yet, but they were as thick as a bowl of Texas red. She was about to start asking questions when a voice bellowed from across the pool.

"Samantha!" They all turned their heads to see Jack Malone, hair tousled, barefoot in a pair of jeans and t-shirt outside an open motel room.

Sam winced a little. She turned to her companions. "Okay, this is going to be a little loud so I think I'll take it to that side of the pool." She got up, grabbed her beer, and walked over to where Jack was standing with a big scowl etched into his features. Catherine watched her take him by the arm and guide him back into the room.

"What do you suppose is going on there?"

Nick shrugged. "You know, not everything has sexual undertones."

Catherine raised her eyebrows at him and chuckled. She swiveled as she saw Jim coming toward them loaded down with a cooler of beers. "All right, Jim. You know how to do it up in style."

Jim shoved it under the round patio table and settled into a chair. "Okay, so who's getting married?"

Catherine grinned wickedly. "Nicky, take it from the top."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Sam put the toothpaste back in her overnight bag. She took out mascara, blush, and lipstick to do some final touches on her make-up. Outside the bathroom door, her boss paced impatiently.

"Two agents! There are only two agents manning the office. I was having enough trouble sleeping just knowing there were three of you. And now there are two!"

Unperturbed, Sam brushed her cheeks with a dusty rose. "They are fine. New Jersey picked up a couple of cases. I got authorization to leave."

"My updates on Danny were fine!" Through the bathroom mirror, she could see him passing back and forth in front of the bathroom door. She stifled a grin.

"Jack, he's got a big hole in his chest. He is most definitely not fine."

"He's getting better." As he passed by the door, his arms went up in exasperation.

"He can't stay awake more than 30 minutes at a time. He's in a lot of pain, and he's still fighting infection in the wound. He laid there in the rain for awhile, you know."

"I had a handle on all of that."

"You didn't tell us any of that stuff." She put the mascara back into her bag, and came out into the room. He turned to look at her. "We are his family, Jack. Do you understand that? We are it."

He sat down on the bed.

"You wanted to know about the cases, but you didn't bother to ask us about how we were doing. Vivian and I understand what we mean to Danny. We have signed on as family and all that entails. Martin is getting there." Sam pointed a finger at him. "We were not doing well. We were scared, and all we got out of you was, 'he's fine. How's follow-up on the Travanti case?' Not good, Jack. Not good."

Jack let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry. I guess I was trying to keep all the balls in the air at the same time. I didn't realize."

She sat down on the double bed opposite his. "We're not machines. You're not either. This is authorized. New Jersey can back us. We did the same for them when one of theirs was killed two years ago."

He nodded.

"I am staying. It's all worked out. Doctor says he can get on a plane the next 2-3 days. I am going to be there. You can't do it alone."

"Okay. I am officially chastised. You win. We better get you a room." He got up to call the front desk.

She shook her head. "They are all booked."

"Damn. Well, there is another motel about two blocks down. We'll try that one." He reached for the phone book.

"Yeah, Jack, it's okay. Don't worry about it. Nick Stokes already offered to share his room with me. Two beds. I think that's going to work the best. We don't want to get the accountants too excited about our expenses."

He furled his brow. "You met this Nick only hours ago, and already you're sharing a room."

"It's the new millennium. Anything goes." She had a glint in her eye. Besides, he seems like a good guy. Very polite. Southern manners. I like that." She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door.

"I don't know about this." He growled.

"Nobody's asking you, Jack." She said as she slipped out of his room.

…………………………………………………………………………………..

Sara was aware of her surroundings long before she opened her eyes. She was reluctant to move. For the first time in a long time she felt warm and safe. The many blankets left her sweaty but she didn't care. Most of all, she was aware of the man glued to her body who was snoring softly into her back. Maybe she could arrange for nurses to bring food and drink so that the two of them would never have to move. They would lay there quietly, the two of them, forever, and she would feel safe. Moving would be their undoing or talking or looking at each other or not looking at each other or not talking or whatever. Something always seemed to get in the way of their connection to one another.

As the minutes passed, her thoughts drifted. It was a perilous journey through her mind. Every turn was fraught with memories of cold air, musty basements, disembodied voices talking calmly about torture, rocks cutting into her feet as she ran, and the lying still hours upon hours when all she wanted to do was scream and beg and claw at the door. Desperately, she tried to pull away from the memories and situate herself in a reality where she could survive and flourish. Her mind turned to thoughts of Danny, and she remembered what happened and where he was. She sat up slowly, carefully not to jar Grissom's wounded paw. Carefully, she slid off the bed. Her feet met the cold floor and pain shot up her legs. She put a hand to her mouth and sank to the ground beside the bed. She had forgotten the sores and cuts on her feet. Two cuts had even warranted stitches. Tears stung her eyes as she willed herself not to disturb Grissom. She slid her feet out from under herself, and looked at them. They were mottled red and purple, littered with bumps and cuts. She dropped her face into her hands and sobbed softly. The nightmare seemed to follow her every move. She tried to pull her knees up to her chest, but her feet were too sore to hold any weight. She leaned her head against the metal frame of the bed and squeezed her eyes shut, the tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes.

Above her, the bed creaked and she froze.

"Sara?" came a grainy voice.

She rubbed furiously at her eyes, and tried to pull herself upright. This put too much weight on her feet, and she collapsed back onto the floor. A sob escaped her trembling lips. The bed rattled again, and then Grissom was climbing off the bed. An audible groan told her how much his hand was aching. Then he was on the floor next to her.

"What happened?"

She shook her head furiously as she couldn't trust her voice.

He saw her feet gingerly resting on the floor. "Oh, Sara. I'm sorry. Honey, you need to stay off them a few more days. You just need to let them rest a bit."

She nodded, careful not to catch his eyes.

"Sara, put your arms around my neck."

She complied without hesitation. He leaned back and started to stand. When weight transferred to her legs, he leaned over and scooped up her feet with his right arm. In an instant, she found herself deposited back in the bed.

"Sara, what were you trying to do?"

"I wanted to go see Danny."

"Oh." He moved back a step.

She sat silently on the bed, staring down at her hands folded in her lap.

"Are you sure you're ready to be up?"

She didn't answer.

He sat down next to her. "You want to see Danny."

She looked at him and nodded slightly. Grissom searched her eyes for a moment, and then got up. He found a robe for her, and then went to the hallway. In a moment, a nurse followed him in with a wheelchair. She allowed the nurse to help her into the chair. Grissom followed her and the nurse to Danny's room. Danny lay propped up pillows. He smiled wide when he saw Sara, and she managed the first grin she had in several weeks. He reached out his arm for her as the nurse wheeled her up to him.

"Hey Pretty Girl, am I glad to see you."

Her smile deepened. She laid her hand in his and pressed it tightly. Grissom felt something tug at the pit of his stomach.

Danny looked up. "Hey Grissom, heard you finally got that hand taken care of."

Grissom nodded. "You're looking good, Danny."

Danny turned to Sara. "Your boss saved my life."

She looked confused for a moment, but turned to Grissom and murmured a thank you. Grissom felt heat rise in his face. Despite his discomfort, he tried to make light banter. "I knew Sara would give me hell if I just left you lying there." It came out sounding awkward and he regretted saying it.

The two of them began talking as if they had known each other for years. Sara rested her head gently on his arm, and they talked in soft tones. Grissom stood against the door ignoring the aching in his non-elevated hand. He saw that they were deeply engaged with one another and he carefully opened the door and started to ease himself out. Before the door could close behind him, he heard her.

"Grissom!"

He swung open the door again. She was sitting up straight, eyes wide. "Where are you going?"

"Ah, just giving the two of you a chance to catch up."

"Are you leaving?" Her voice rose a little.

He shook his head slowly. "No, I'm just going to lie down again."

"You are not leaving?" She persisted.

"No Sara, I promise."

"You will be there when I get back."

He nodded. She blinked as if ingesting it all. Then she swallowed and nodded back. He eased out the door and let it close gently. For a moment, he stood there, eyes closed. The emotions building in him were more complicated than he knew how to handle. A nurse walked by and offered to assist him, but he waved her away. Slowly, he made his way back to the room and lay down. He didn't close his eyes. Instead, he watched the minute hand on the wall clock slowly circle the dial.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

Hatfield sat in the small, cold cell with his hands folded neatly into his lap awaiting lunch. The overweight deputy had pulled a tray off the cart and opened the door to his cell.

"Hey Hatfield. Heard about you on the news. You lied to investigators, and so the deal's off. You, my friend, are going to fry in the electric chair." He spoke nonchalantly as he placed the tray on a small table across from Hatfield.

Hatfield looked at him and smiled. "I'll just make a new deal."

The deputy snorted. "Doesn't sound like you have much to trade."

Keeping the smile on his face, Hatfield looked away.

"Hey Hat, you still keeping secrets?"

"All in due time, Deputy. I will wait until they come to me. And they will. And they will be offering me a deal."

"Nice daydream there, Buddy."

"Yes it is, Deputy. I assure you that this dream will come true."

……………………………………………………………………………….


	15. chapter 15

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, Inc.

Spoiler: Unbearable

Wow, I have been stuck, stuck, stuck. I have a direction finally. Hope it works for you all. Not so humorous right now. Trying to navigate my way through the emotions and characters that I believe them to be. Took a while to do that to my 'sort of' satisfaction.

Hope you all had a good weekend. I hope to hear from you as to whether this chapter worked or not. I look forward to any reviews that might come my way. Thanks a ton.

Sheila

**Chapter 15**

**Afraid of the Light**

Sofia looked up from her microscope with a frustrated look on her face. She checked the array of video stills in front of her, and was clearly unsatisfied with the result. She rubbed her eyes and then sat back in her chair. Her conclusions would definitely turn this investigation on its ear, and she wasn't interested in doing that unless it was warranted. She took the three best stills and headed for the morgue. Doc was done with the autopsy, but the body was still in a drawer. She opened a drawer marked Sanchez, and pulled out the corpse. He was small and unassuming, and, for a moment, she had a hard time imagining him as dangerous, but of course, she knew size had little to do with vicious behavior.

She picked up each cold, stiff hand and spent minutes comparing them to the video stills she brought in. Try as she might, she couldn't fit the pieces together. Finally she stood back, looking at the body. She had crossed over the line of good investigation by trying to make the evidence fit the theory. It was clear that she had discovered something that would further complicate matters, and she just needed to accept that.

The next step would be for her to call Grissom to report this highly unsatisfying bit of information. Following procedure to the letter had always been the foundation of her work. However, she was not interested in speaking to him right now. He had all but abandoned the lab for Sara as if other crimes no longer held any interest. She had always seen him as a man who had a sense of balance and objectivity; an emotionally tidy man. But he had proven himself to be anything but. In fact, she believed that he irrationally blamed her for Sara's current situation. It would certainly explain his unwillingness to interact with her since this all began.

Then she remembered that word came down that Grissom had surgery on his hand in Reno. It would be logical to assume that he might still be indisposed. Catherine was someone she didn't particularly like. The woman spoke with pride about her days as an exotic dancer as if the objectification of women was merely a concept rather than the cornerstone of male on female aggression. But calling her was much more palatable than talking to the disappointing Grissom.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

The twenty minutes he spent trying to dress his self was draining. He sat on the edge of the empty bed and glared at the shoes on his feet that were still untied. All the rest of his clothes were on, but only through a series of Byzantine maneuvers that left him sore and exhausted. The only success has been in struggling silently so that Sara would remain sleeping. She lie curled up in the bed across from him. She had come back to him last night after spending hours in Danny's room. Without hesitation, she had climbed into bed with him and reached for his torso. He gave willingly of himself the safety and comfort that she so desperately needed. In ways that he didn't yet want to think about, he needed the intimacy of her touch as much as she needed him.

Behind him the door opened and a nurse came in. Her eyebrows rose as she noted him in his street clothes. "Doctor's orders were clear on this point, Mr. Grissom. Another day on Demerol is recommended before graduating you to ibuprofen. And, believe me, with the Demerol, you are not going to want to be up and walking around."

He licked his lips, nervous that she would wake Sara. He spoke softly to her, "I do not intend to take any more Demerol. My mind…I need to be able to think clearly again."

"Re-breaking a bone is a very painful experience. I doubt your focus will survive the discomfort."

He nodded. "Nevertheless, I have no other option."

"What do you want me to say to your fiancée when she wakes."

"Pardon me." He wrinkled his brow at her.

"Your fiancée…what should I tell her?"

"Miss Sidle is not my…," Grissom stopped himself. "She is not…to be disturbed. She needs as much rest as possible. Tell her I will be back as soon as possible."

"Let me at least get you a prescription for ibuprofen. Just wait. I'll call your doctor and be right back." She put a forefinger up, and looked at him sternly. Satisfied that he would stay, she left the room.

Grissom looked at the sleeping Sara, and was surprised to find her staring back at him. Her brown eyes were large on her pale white face.

"I wish I could stay, but it's time for me to work again." He spoke softly.

She pulled the blankets up to her chin, and said nothing in response.

"You still need a few days, Sara." Her silence unnerved him. He got up and sat down on her bed with her. "I'll be nearby. I'm not leaving Reno."

She nodded imperceptibly. He reached over and stroked her hair. "Do you want me to come back tonight?"

"Yes." Her voice was husky.

He sat silently for a moment. "I don't know what this is, Sara, but whatever it is, I want to do it right. I want to be who you need."

She slid away from his reach. "No good. I can't invest in your charity. Find your heart, Grissom. Follow it. Maybe it will find you happiness someday. You deserve it."

Her words startled him. Her voice didn't contain the hurt he can come to expect in these moments. Its sound was dull, detached. He reached over to touch her arm.

"I don't want to lose you." He replied.

"And I don't want to be your pet." She whispered.

He drew his hand back and looked at her in shock. "Never, Sara. I have always respected you."

She sighed. "I am not angry at you. You have been good to me."

"Then why is there a problem?" His face screwed up in confusion.

"Because whatever you do, you have to do it for you. I'm tired of being the almost ran in your life. Think about why you work so hard to keep me close to you. Is it out of guilt, a sense of responsibility, desire, what?" She shook her head slowly.

"This is not the right time for this conversation. You have been through so much. Rest is your only job right now." Secure in this notion, he patted the bed and got up. The nurse was at the door with a bottle of pills.

"It doesn't matter, you know. I don't know if I can ever really leave that basement." Her voice was surprisingly flat. "This conversation is probably academic more than anything else."

He caught the doorway before he could leave. He stood there for a moment, one hand holding tightly the doorframe. Then he turned to Sara. "You are not a project, a pet, nor a sense of responsibility to me. You are Sara, the one and only. I treat you like I do because of how special you are to me. And I am a jerk to you because I want to protect you from all things including myself. I don't know if I can change all of that. You are a serious threat to the emotional denial I have surrounded myself with all these years. The idea of you is more than I can process on most days."

He dropped his head and stood there uncertainly for a moment. In the absence of response he sighed, and left. Dry eyed, she stared at the empty doorway; finally she rolled over and willed herself to find safety in his absence.

………………………………………………………………………………………

He leaned against the wall outside her room with his eyes closed. Everything about her was electric to him. It had always been this way, and, in many ways, it was the reason he had kept her at arm's length all this time. But all that got stripped away when she was gone. So many promises he made himself if he ever saw her again. Simple then, but she was here now, and he was again racked with the same fears and confusion. It was easy when their brains were too fuzzy to process feelings. He could climb in and hold her close, and let it be what it always should have been without worrying about what it meant.

"Grissom!" His eyes flew open. Catherine, Brass, Malone, and an unidentified blonde were striding toward him, two deputies in tow.

Brass gestured him away from Sara's door, and down the hallway to a lounge. Halfway down, he glanced back and saw the deputies planting themselves at her door. He felt a stab of fear in his gut. "What the hell's going on, Brass?"

Jim turned to him in the lounge, hands on hips. "Catherine got a call from Sofia. There's a third man."

"What!" Grissom gripped at the cushion of a chair.

"The videos," Malone said. "In the frames, there are brief shots of hands when Sanchez would gesture to his victims. Closer examination shows that they are the hands of two different men."

"Hatfield?"

"No. Definitely not." Malone shook his head.

"Gil, the voice analysis from the video of Sara indicates that two different men spoke to her."

Grissom whirled around to find Catherine. "Why didn't we know this!"

"We didn't know to look."

"Fingerprints?"

"Nick, Greg, and Warrick are climbing all over that house as we speak. It wasn't a priority when we had Sanchez dead to rights." She didn't bristle at his tone.

"Do we know anything?" He threw his arms up and winced as his left arm strained against the sling.

"I think we know who does." The blonde spoke calmly. From her stance behind Malone, Grissom suspected that she was one of his.

Brass stepped forward. "Gil, we think you should talk to Hatfield. He will be most comfortable with you. You up to that?"

He nodded.

"Jack and I will go with you. Cath and Sam are going to talk to Sara."

Grissom closed his eyes and groaned. "We shouldn't worry her."

"Chances are that he would never show up to hurt her, but we're not going to take the chance."

"She's had enough."

Catherine touched his arm. "We got it, Griss. I'll stay with her."

He chewed on his lip a minute before nodding his assent. "Be gentle, Cath."

Patiently she nodded and he reluctantly let Jack lead him down the hall toward the exit.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Catherine sat on the edge of her bed, and tried to read the expression on Sara's face. Sara had ingested all of their news, but showed almost no affect. "Sara, you understand what I'm saying to you. There is another man. Do you remember anything that might help us?"

"No." She said simply. She pulled the blankets tightly around her face.

Catherine leaned forward. "You are in no danger, Sara. I promise you. Someone will be with you at all times until we find him."

Sara focused her attention on the woman leaning against the other bed. "You are very beautiful. Danny talks about you a lot."

Sam smiled at her. "He's kind of addictive, isn't he?"

Sara nodded. "I don't know him well, but I feel like he understands me."

"Sara," Catherine interjected. "We have a situation."

"I don't remember anything that can help. I was a blubbery, frightened woman who crouched inside of a mattress for several days. I was blinded by my fear. I am that same woman today, but with a better mattress." Sara wouldn't look at Catherine.

Catherine let out a sigh. "Sam, can you do me a favor and give us a minute?"

Sam nodded and disappeared from the room. Sara buried herself deeper into her pillow.

"Are you still angry with me Sara?"

"No," came a muffled response.

"What's going on?" Catherine stroked the blanketed form.

She finally mumbled a response. "The terror's already there; real or imagined. It's a normal part of my life now. You're merely confirming what I have already imagined."

"Oh, honey, I didn't mean—"

"I'm just trying to keep my head above water." Sara pushed the covers off her face and sat up.

"I'm sorry."

Sara dragged her feet out from under the blankets and swung them over the side of the bed. "Let's see if I can get these to work. I might need them sooner than I thought." She eased off the bed slowly, putting one foot down at a time. She gritted her teeth, swallowing a moan. She was able to stand only as long as she held onto the bed.

"Get back on the bed and wait for me." Catherine ordered. "I know what will help."

She came back in a few minutes with an armful of supplies. "I used to do ten hour shifts in four inch plastic heels with no supports. I know something about tortured feet. Swing those puppies up on the bed."

Sara obeyed. Catherine pulled both feet onto her lap. She looked them over carefully and couldn't help but wince at the damage she saw. She reached over to a bottle of lotion on the bed beside her. "I like cocoa butter, but we'll settle for what they have." She squirted an amount in her hands and rubbed them together. Gently she took a foot and began to massage it. Sara groaned. "Relax, Sara." Within a few minutes, her foot was responding to the heat and the gentle touch. Catherine picked up her other foot and began the same treatment. Sara lay back in the pillow with her eyes closed. When Catherine was finished, she pulled out a thick pair of cotton socks and carefully put them on Sara's feet. Then she pulled out a pair of hospital slippers and put them over the socks. "Now try it."

Sara swung her legs down again, and gingerly stepped on the floor. This time she was able to get her entire weight onto the floor. She sighed deeply and turned to Catherine. "Thank you." Catherine pulled her into a tight hug.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

Hatfield sat across from Grissom. He looked even smaller than Grissom remembered. The bruises had faded from his face, but he wore a hunted look, and Grissom figured that his cellmates were being less than charitable with him.

"Dr. Grissom, what can I do for you?" Corcoran let his eyes drop to the cast so awkwardly laid on the table. "I'm glad you addressed your injury.

Muscles in Grissom's face twitched but he kept his face as impassive as possible. Brass prowled the room behind him, keeping watch over the two of them. Malone stood behind the mirror.

"We need more information from you."

"I'm flattered Dr. Grissom. I was so happy to help you find Sara. I trust that she is recovering nicely."

Grissom tensed, breathing in sharply when Hatfield mentioned Sara's name. Brass stopped his pacing and dropped his hands on the table in front of Corcoran. "She's doing a lot better than Sanchez, I can tell you that."

Hatfield nodded. "Alberto could be stupid with his girls. His approach was borne out of fear rather than caution."

"He wasn't alone," Grissom said sharply.

"Yes, I know." Hatfield continued calmly. "Robbie comes to help sometimes. Not with the assaults themselves, but sometimes Alberto would let him play with the girls a little. In fact, I knew Robbie before I ever knew Alberto."

"Who is Robbie?"

"Robbie is Alberto's son." Hatfield said as if the most obvious conclusion.

"He kills women too?"

"He is an artist in a way that his father can't touch.

Grissom rubbed at his face. "Where is Robbie?"

Hatfield grinned at him. "Got to make it worth my while, Grissom."

Brass slammed his hand on the table in front of Corcoran. "I've had it with your little bits of knowledge parceled out every couple of days. You think you can do this for months, don't you?"

Hatfield looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "Your behavior with me has been no more stellar."

"We're trying to save lives, Hatfield. There's a difference." Brass flailed his arms at him. "You care about nothing but a handful of video tapes and your own sorry self. We care about people."

Grissom caught his eye and warned him off. Brass pulled away from the table and stalked off. Grissom leaned in. "We can't do this, Hatfield. We'll find out enough without you. We've done it before." He got up and gestured at Brass. Hatfield sat back in his chair. "Come back!"

Grissom turned and cocked his head at the ugly little man. He stood where he was and waited. Brass stood at the door.

"I can tell you about Robbie. I can tell you what he does. I can tell you about his signature, the girls who have gone missing. He's different than his father. He keeps them alive for months. He may have girls right now."

"In return?" Brass said simply.

"You probably think I want capital murder off the table. Well, I don't." Hatfield drummed his short, thick fingers on the table. "I have no desire to spend the next twenty years fending offignorant brutes. It is no life."

"Hatfield, we're done with the tapes. It's no longer an option."

Brass opened the door to leave when he heard him. "I don't want the tapes!"

Grissom froze in his tracks. Without looking around, Grissom murmured, "What do you want?"

"I want to see Sara. I want to ask her questions. An hour. No more. There are questions I want to ask."

Grissom remembered turning his head to look at Hatfield. Then he became aware of pain as his face was slammed onto the tabletop and his right arm was held securely behind his back. The pain in his left hand trapped beneath his torso was electric. In the background, there was a low keening. Breathing heavily, Brass whispered into his ear. "I am going to back off and you're going to get up and walk out. Don't look at him. Don't talk to him. You understand?"

"Yes," he hissed.

Brass helped pull Grissom up off the table and steered him toward the door. Grissom couldn't help but look at the pathetic creature crouched behind an overturned chair, holding his face and rocking. He realized he was responsible for this, and he smiled.

………………………………………………………………………………………..

Sara put on her clothes slowly. Despite the temperature, she put on a sweater over her shirt. Jeans felt stiff on her legs, but she appreciated the warmth of the fabric hugging her legs. She put on two layers of the thick socks and slid on a pair of Birkenstocks Catherine picked up for her.

She slid off the bed carefully and gently transferred her weight to her legs. It was surprisingly comfortable to stand. She walked slowly, gingerly. It felt strengthening to be out of a nightgown. It was surprising how she needed to shed the nightgown to feel strong again. She vowed to never wear one again.

She went past the deputies, giving them a forced grin and then shuffled down the hall to Danny's room. He was propped in his bed video controls in hand. Sam sat beside him with her own, and sounds of gunfire assaulted Sara when she walked in the door. Danny saw her and winked. That gave Sam the distraction she needed to destroy him. "YES!" she yelled, throwing her hands up in the air.

Sara stood at the doorway. "I thought the games were banned."

"Physical Therapist says that, in small doses, it's good for improving motor control. He wrote it in the orders." Danny said noticing her attire. "It's nice to see you in clothes again. Feeling up to this?"

"I want to get out of here." She said softly.

Sam looked at Danny for a moment and then regarded Sara. "Sara, did they discharge you?" she asked.

"No."

"Why don't you come sit down?" Sam got up and gestured at her chair.

Sara shook her head and leaned against the doorway. "Your boss promised me a trip to Mexico where there's a pool with a bar in the middle. Do I need a passport to go to Mexico? I haven't been on vacation in forever."

"Sara, are you okay?" Danny asked.

"I'm not crazy, I don't think." She took a deep breath. "I just want to get away from all this. I can't sit there and wait. I can't escape the…events in my head. I need a distraction."

Sam walked up to her, and took her arm. "Sit with us, please. We were talking about this."

"I don't understand."

Sam deposited her in the chair and then perched on the bed. "I was in a hostage situation a couple of years back. I got shot. Was in there for eight hours. Got out okay. But I couldn't escape the images, the smells, the fear, everything. It wasn't as visceral as what you experienced, but it was hard."

Sara leaned forward. "What did you do?"

"Well, I got very little sleep for a few months, I was difficult at work, and I isolated myself from the people who cared about me. I also looked for a way to escape. Tried to bury myself in work so that I wouldn't go home and drown myself in booze."

Sara carefully tucked her feet under her legs while she listened.

"Jack found me a trauma counselor."

Sara made a sour face.

Sam shook her head. "I know, but it made a difference. My counselor was really good. There were no magic answers but she helped me understand myself in a new way."

Danny reached for her hand. "I think you should come back with us. Stay with me. I could use the company. I'm going to be sitting at home for another four weeks at least. Take some time to clear your head. See Sam's counselor."

Sara squeezed back. "Let's go find a bar in a pool down in Mexico."

"Yeah, well I'm thinking that is not such a good idea right now." He held her eyes in his.

"I don't know."

"Think about it, Sara."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

TBC


	16. chapter 16

I'm home sick today so I have time to throw out a chapter. I got some interesting feedback from jtbwriter. She has been a consistent presence on this journey, and I appreciate her willingness to offer critical response. She suggests that I am dragging it out too long; thinking perhaps, I am creating devices to keep Sara and Grissom apart. Good thoughts. I always find that feedback slows as I get deeper into my stories. God knows they are long. Years ago, I wrote a story for The West Wing that was two hundred pages. I do get obsessive about these things.

As for this story, I have to say this. I made a decision to let her be kidnapped and have to follow it through. I work with trauma and know that it is not an easy road. I can't make it go too quickly for Griss and Sara. She's too vulnerable to make a commitment quite yet. There is too much to process. Danny is quickly morphing into a friend rather than romantic rival. What I have planned here is a little unusual, but feels right for the story.

Good news is that there is an end to the story planned. I am anticipating that it will be in the 19th, 20th or 21st chapter. I appreciate those of you who have followed me through this. I do like angst and it is not my intention to be torturous. I want it to be compelling and interesting. Again, jtbwriter, thanks for taking the time to read and think about the story. I appreciate your words.

Sheila

**Chapter 16**

**Afraid of the Light**

Sara's eyes became fixated on the pool as Sam slowly led her around it to the group of tables and chairs they were using as a common meeting spot. Nick was there, Catherine, Brass, and Jack. She knew there would be fussing, but Sam knew of no other way to handle the situation. Sara's attention was solely focused on the clear blue water, and Sam had to physically guide her away from it.

Brass looked up. "Hey sunshine, what a nice surprise. I had no idea they were going to be springing you this soon."

Sam caught the note of concern in his voice. "Sara was pretty adamant about it. Weren't you, Sara?"

Sara didn't bother to acknowledge her. She seemed mesmerized with the pool. Sam mouthed the word, 'help' at the gathered. Nicky jumped up and came over. He took Sara's arm and steered her away from the gathered. She squeezed his arm tightly, and he took her over to a couple of chaise lounges by the pool. He sat down with her, and let her quietly gaze at the pool.

Sam watched all of this and then came over, dropping into Nick's chair. "I didn't know what to do. She was dressed, and ready to go. I could not get her back into her room. She says that she is done with dungeons. Whatever that means. Her detail is still here. They stationed themselves at the entrance to the motel."

"Posttraumatic Stress," Jack said simply. "Her mind can't find its way back home yet."

"Finding out about the third man may have hit her harder than I thought." Said Catherine.

"It's a process. We see it in our follow-up with victims and their families."

Sam interjected. "She is very focused on an idea you gave her about a trip to Mexico to find a pool with a bar in the middle."

Jack nodded. "She needs a place to go; somewhere she can get relief from the memories of the trauma. Look at her now. She's entranced with the pool. Probably imagines that it could cleanse her; wash away the filth they left her with."

"Are you a psychologist?" Catherine asked.

Jack shrugged his shoulders. "No, but I need a psychological edge when I do this work.

"What should we do for her?"

"Watch her closely especially for signs of dissociation. She may transition to another reality off and on. The concern is that she will make decisions in that reality which are not congruent in this one."

"An example," Sam jumped in. "would be her dissociating and believing that the pool is the only place she can survive."

"She could drown herself?" Brass' voice rose a little.

"I don't think so, but we have to watch her."

"If I follow you correctly, then under no circumstances do we tell her about Hatfield's request." Brass added.

"Exactly."

Across the pool, Sara leaned on Nick's shoulder. There was no talking; just Sara watching the hypnotic patterns of the drifting water and Nick holding onto her for dear life.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Grissom was tired and in pain. Much of this could explain his mood. But there was more. The people around her had allowed her to just get up and walk out of the hospital two days before she was scheduled to exit. It angered him past the point of reason.

Dusk was beautiful with the Sierra Nevada as back drop. The warm hues of a sunset glowed along the horizon. They were all still gathered at the table, talking and arguing. Behind them the pool shimmered in the neon lights that littered the block. Occasional raucous laughter would erupt. Sara sat between Catherine and Warrick. She had a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Grissom himself could feel the draft of a desert evening, and was further annoyed that they let her sit out in this cool air.

He approached quietly and ignored the greetings that came his direction. He focused his attentions on Sara who immediately caught his gaze. She looked distant and pale to him.

"Sara needs rest." He announced perfunctorily. Everyone stopped talking and looked at him. She said nothing.

"She's just been sitting here with us. Got bored at the hospital." Catherine was massaging Sara's blanketed back.

"She shouldn't have been allowed to leave." Grissom stood his ground.

Sara didn't bristle as expected when this conversation happened in front of her. Rather she looked on as if an interested bystander.

"She made a choice. This is where she wants to be." Brass said.

Grissom rubbed at his eyes with his good arm. The other ached incessantly. He couldn't remember where the ibuprofen was that the nurse gave him that morning. Exhaustion, hunger, and pain competed for his attention.

Jack seemed to read him as he held out an open pizza box with a half eaten thin crust inside. Grissom could see that the table was riddled with the remains from other boxes. His rage settled some, and he let Nick pull over a chair for him. Jack sat the box on his lap and he dug in. Someone passed him a beer, but Catherine intercepted and switched it with a bottled water. He accepted it and let his anger begin to melt away. Conversation resumed around him. As he ate, he could feel Sara's eyes on him. She looked so young to him tonight. Her face was thin, and her eyes had grown in proportion. She stared at him unabashed, not blushing or looking away when his eyes caught hers.

He finished eating and put the box on the ground. For a few minutes, he tried to engage in conversation, but he couldn't feign the interest. Finally he got up and asked about sleeping arrangements. Again, he stopped the conversation cold. The rooms were a disorganized hodgepodge of revolving roommates who wanted nothing but a place to lay their heads for a few hours. Organizing Grissom and Sara into the mix took some time and involved several different sleeping scenarios. Finally, Brass told Grissom to take his room, and he would find a place to crash in Warrick's or Greg's room. Knowledge that he would take Sara with him was left unsaid.

Grissom said his goodnights and took Brass' key. His eyes rested on Sara for a moment, but he was reluctant to push her. He couldn't bring himself to say anything to her. So he turned and walked away. She pulled the blanket around her waist and followed him.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Sleeping arrangements became complicated after they left. Greg had a single bed in his room. Warrick reluctantly admitted that he was sharing space with Catherine. Nick was shacking up with the beautiful Sam Spade from New York. Jack's was the only open room. He offered begrudgingly and Brass accepted with a facial expression generally reserved for finding parking tickets on his windshield.

………………………………………………………………………………………

Jack moved his things from the empty bed in his room. He thought about clearing space for the homicide captain in the bathroom, but figured that shouldn't be an issue for two men. Jack hoped that Brass liked basketball because he was going to get his share of it in this room. Jack switched on ESPN and searched the schedule for NCAA play-off times. He found a game he could really sink his teeth into, Duke vs. Carolina, propped a couple of pillows against the headboard and leaned back. Just as he settled in, there was a knock at the door. He cursed silently, got up, and opened the door. His eyes popped open when he saw Samantha in the doorway, her bag slung over her shoulder. She brushed past him into the room and dropped her bag unto the empty bed. "Sorry, Jack. Brass and Nick are sharing a room. Watching the Final Four. Figured you weren't into basketball."

Jack glared at her. "You could have told them otherwise."

"Naw. Brass thinks there's not enough room for his ego and yours in the same room. He's right."

"There are about a hundred reasons this is not a good idea." He still stood at the door.

"Oh knock it off, Jack. I am happy to watch basketball with you. Nothing more." Sam threw pillows to the foot of the bed and draped herself over them, settling herself on her elbows.

"It's uncomfortable."

She turned her head at him. "Welcome to my life, Jack."

He furled his brow at her. "What do you mean?"

"Your feelings aren't the only ones at stake here. Remember that."

"Then why risk it?" He threw his arms up.

She sat up. "Because it is the elephant in the room. We can't walk around it forever. Besides, I think we have learned our lesson. I am with someone now. I'm not into cheating."

"You want to rub that in my face." She could feel his anger build.

"We made mistakes, Jack. We hurt people. We hurt each other. At least, I know that I got hurt. Are we uncomfortable like this because of the past or because of what is still there? Have you ever asked yourself that?"

He closed his eyes. "We can't go back, Sam."

"I'm not sure we ever left." Sam settled back onto her pillows and rested her chin in her hands.

"So what are we supposed to do?"

"Watch basketball, Jack. That's what we do. And in the back of your head, you think about why that elephant is still there." She gestured at the clicker. He reached over and tossed it to her. She turned up the volume. "If you're going to just stand there, why don't you go grab some popcorn at the lounge…and something to drink." She didn't flinch when he closed the door loudly behind him.

………………………………………………………………………………………

Grissom sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed. Sara sat on the other one silently, her eyes never leaving him. He had been talking for the last fifteen minutes, a sort of stream of consciousness about why he kept himself shut off from others. He found that he was repeating himself, but couldn't seem to stop. It had been simple when he was too drugged to process events. Now it felt too clear and foreboding. She sat quietly through his entire monologue. Finally he lapsed into silence.

Then she spoke, "Grissom, I need you."

"You're fragile. I don't know what to do." His head hung.

"I just need you to hold me." Her whisper slid over him like the wind of a coming storm and he shivered. Slowly he got up, the creak in the bedsprings a deafening roar, and walked over to her. An arm reached out and pulled him down. She put her arms around his neck and held him fiercely. He turned her and lay down on the bed beside her.

She rolled onto her back and looked up at him perched on his side. He gently laid his cast on her stomach. She reached up and stroked his beard. "I'm not right, Griss."

"Posttraumatic stress. It's going to take a while, Honey." Her fingers on his face sent shivers of sensation down his spine. It was all he could do to stay still.

She screwed up her face. "I have to fight it. I can't let myself sit in this fog."

It was too much. He leaned down and kissed her cheek softly. He spoke softly in her ear. "You have to be patient, Sara. Her body is not the enemy. You deserve care and love right now. That is what will help you heal."

"I didn't fight hard enough." She rubbed her face against his.

He leaned back. "You're too hard on yourself. You are not the same girl who had to look out for herself 'cause her mom killed her dad. You don't have to be tough now. We know you're a fighter. We're all here to take over so you can heal."

She reached up and tugged on his beard. He closed his eyes and let her pull him down to her. Her lips pulled at his mouth and he let her explore gently. Shaking fingers stroked his cheek and he groaned at the poetry of her touch. He opened his mouth and kissed her hard. She responded. The two reached awkwardly for one another on the bed. He moved on top of her, and began kissing her neck. She held onto him tightly. He reached under her shirt and his right hand began to explore. Sharp ridges surprised him and he sat back. His eyes never leaving her face, he pulled her shirt off her stomach. He looked down and saw that her ribs were etched deeply into her skin. A wave of guilt swept away his desire. She was not yet herself; the strong woman he so deeply loved. She was only days away from a deep trauma: still underfed, still weakened. Clarity still only came to her in pieces, and the scars of her ordeal were still forming on her soul.

He closed his eyes. "Sara, we're not ready for this."

"Please, don't coddle me." She reached for his face.

He pulled away. "I'm not. I want you, Sara. I love you. But we're not ready."

"This is just another excuse." She rolled away from him. "It will always be something."

"Are you listening, Sara?" He spoke to her back. "I love you. There's no turning back. I've said it. You know. I love you. I don't want to walk away."

"I know more than you think, Grissom. I know you keep secrets."

He scrunched up his face, unsure of what she was referring to. "What secrets, Sara? This can't be about Sofia. I haven't talked to her since before you disappeared. I don't intend to."

"I know more than you think." She repeated. And then she rolled back to face him. "It's okay. I understand why you protect me, but you have to let me fight for me. I can't just sit on the sidelines."

"I'm not sure I know what you are talking about." He found the courage to reach out and stroke her hair.

"It's okay. You just need to know that I can't get better if I am just sitting around letting others do what needs to be done."

"Honey, this will be a struggle. You have the hardest fight of all. The rest of us are going to have to let you take the lead in all this."

She smiled. "Thank you. I knew you would understand." She snuggled into his body and closed her eyes. "I'm so tired, Griss."

He pulled her to him and stroked her thin form. "Just rest, Honey. Just rest."

Her breathing settled into a quiet rhythm. When he was sure she was sleeping, he let himself relax. But before he drifted off, he heard her murmur. "I love you too, Gil Grissom."

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Grissom heard pounding on the door, and he sat upright. The unmistakable voice of Jim Brass was calling his name. He stumbled to the door and let Brass and the intense light of early morning into his room.

Brass pushed past him into the room. "Is she here? I hope to God they're wrong."

Grissom wheeled around and noticed for the first time, he was alone in the room. Brass bounded out of the bathroom and threw him a shirt. "You can dress on the way there." He ran past him out the door. Grissom grabbed his shirt, a jacket, and chased after Brass. In the courtyard, there was more shouting. Malone had grabbed a squad and Sam and Catherine climbed in after him. Another squad pulled up and Brass commandeered it, stuffing Grissom inside, and, for the moment, ignoring his frantic questions. Brass shouted directions to deputies and climbed in the front seat. The car took off.

"Jesus, Jim, tell me something now!" Grissom exploded from the back.

Brass swiveled around. "She went to the station about ninety minutes ago. Said she was there to interview Hatfield. Showed credentials to them. She doesn't have her own here; must have taken yours. I get a call ten minutes ago because the morning shift supervisor was suspicious about the set-up. I told him to pull her out immediately. Then I came for you."

Grissom stared at Jim for an instant before responding. "Sara went into an interview alone with Hatfield?"

Brass nodded. "She must have overheard Corcoran's offer from one of the deputies. Knew we would never agree to his demands."

Grissom groaned. "She told me she was going to do this last night. I didn't realize what she was talking about. Said she had to fight for herself. Said she couldn't be on the sidelines. God! She's existing on the edge, Jim. Get her out of there!"

Jim picked up his cell and punched in numbers. He waited. At first no one answered. Then he got a young deputy. Jim barked at him, and then he listened. He put the phone to his chest for a minute and said quietly. "Gil, she's locked herself in there with him."

……………………………………………………………………………………………

TBC


	17. chapter 17

I should be ducking now, right? Angst-ridden. No resolution yet. I am sorry for those who need more right now. But I am following my heart on this one. I need to let it follow through to what I believe is its natural conclusion. I hope you all understand what Grissom and Sara are both feeling right now in this story. Thank you to those who have taken the time to acknowledge this story and to encourage me. It has meant a great deal to me. I hope this story keeps you engaged.

Sheila

**Chapter 17**

**Afraid of the Light**

Sara's plan was simple. She would let him ask questions in exchange for hers. Question for question. She would get information on this other man. It was that simple. She could contribute. This would be her thing. They would find him, and then there would be a payoff in a rescue or a conviction or closure to families left in a paralyzing limbo. She could save women from suffering as she had.

At first, it was easy. She sat across from him wearing a thin smile. He grinned wickedly at her, but she didn't respond. She set out the deal and the guidelines. He clarified that his questions could be anything and she agreed. She said that if his information had to be good or she was out of there. So it began.

He wanted to know about the terror, her feelings, what thoughts went through her mind. She answered slowly, thoughtfully, careful to only give him pieces of who she was. He responded eagerly to her questions. She wrote down details regarding places he lived, likes, dislikes, work history, proclivities, signature. She stopped him several times, asking for clarification. She had no way of verifying his information. It was a risk, but she plowed ahead.

She had borrowed a recorder from the desk sergeant and had to keep shifting it closer to him because he spoke so softly. At some point, her head began to swim. He shouted at her, and she jumped. She stood up and shouted back, and he looked at her with puzzled eyes. Several times, she had him lift his hands to confirm that the cuffs were still locked.

She let him continue his questions. They became more difficult. He wondered about how she pictured Sanchez without ever seeing him. She gave him a perfunctory reply, but he pushed her for details. She found out the name of a landlady Robbie used to correspond with.

Her fingers started to shake so she shoved her hands under the table. Corcoran's face morphed into Grissom's and he shook his finger at her. He changed back into Corcoran, but she stunned. She had no idea that someone could possess these powers. She spoke to him with more deference after that out of respect for his skills.

He wanted to know what she thought about when Sanchez opened the door to her room. He asked her to describe what happened down to the last detail. She asked him why men kill women? It seemed a logical question, one she had wondered about for years. She listened to his answer, but found nothing of merit to put down on the legal pad in front of her.

He told her he kicked her in the side twice when she was with him, chloroformed. He asked her to lift her shirt so he could see if there were still marks. Without hesitation, she lifted her shirt on the left. There were faded marks on her left side. He asked her to come over so he could touch the marks. She started to cry, tears streaming down her face. She stayed seated, doing nothing to staunch the tears. She knew it was her turn to ask a question, but she could think of nothing. These men, their evil was so powerful, she was no match for them. She suddenly wished she had brought Grissom. He could guide her through the fog.

Then Sanchez was sitting next to Corcoran. She never had a chance to get a good look at him, so he was blurry, but he sat there short and squat. She called him names, but he sat there silently and ignored her. Corcoran was yelling at her, and she told him to shut up. There was a knock on the door and she realized that the third one had arrived. She got up and dragged the metal chair to the door and propped it under the knob. She couldn't fight them all at once, and so it was time to divide and conquer. The knocking turned to pounding and then the knob jiggled wildly. She knew she didn't have much time. Corcoran was yelling at her to open the door, but she ignored him. She searched the room for an object, something to use as a weapon. The room was bare of objects. She pulled at a table leg, but it didn't budge. She looked down at her new sandals and pulled one off.

She turned and addressed them solemnly. "You have to die. Both of you. Women have the right to be safe. We have the right. We have the right to live in a world without you."

She raised the shoe over her head and slammed it down hard.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

No one said a word. All of them ran hard for the entrance to the station. There were the shrill cries of ambulances in the air. Brass burst through the door and found the room in chaos. There was shouting from all directions. He led the way, pushing past people until he got to the room they had used for interrogations. The door was bent in the middle and hung on one hinge. Brass met a deputy guarding the door.

"Let us in. Where is she?"

"Unless you're a medic, you're not going in." he growled in reply and stood fast. Brass leaned around him and spied a Reno homicide detective.

"Lowry. Let me in!" The man looked up. "Move Stinson, let him in."

Brass squeezed by. Then the deputy closed the hole again. Grissom tried to get past, but the deputy was immovable. "Just wait." Brass put up a hand and then disappeared into the sea of bodies in the room.

Grissom whirled around ready to explode. Malone caught his eye and slowly shook his head. "She's going to need you. Get a hold of yourself." Grissom sighed and closed his eyes. Brass reappeared and gestured to Malone and Grissom. The deputy reluctantly let them pass by.

Grissom was immediately annoyed with the number of people in the room. Evidence gathering would be a nightmare. They were contaminating everything. Brass pulled on his arm, and he saw people leaning over a body on the floor. He could see blood on the chair and table. He pushed a detective out of the way, and saw Corcoran on the floor, his face a mask of blood. He wasn't moving.

He stood up, but couldn't see over the many heads in the room. "Sara!" he cried. "Sara!"

Brass took him by the shoulder and steered him to the corner farthest away from Corcoran. Sara sat curled up in a corner. There were cuffs on her hands. Two detectives were trying to talk to her. She shook violently and was drenched in sweat. Brass started complaining at the detectives about a variety of concerns, and Grissom leaned before her. "It's okay, Honey. It's okay. I promise." The words slid out of him rapidly. He reached for her hands, his cast covering the whole of her cuffs. "Don't worry about a thing. I should have understood what was happening. I should have been here. It's going to be okay." He couldn't find her eyes. She stared past him to a place not in the room.

"I'm going to get you a lawyer, Sara. You'll be fine. You didn't mean to kill him."

A chuckle interrupted his rambling. "Good thing you work with people after they're dead. Corcoran's alive. Has a concussion and some cuts, but his pulse is good. Not much damage you can do with cork heeled footwear." Brass winked at him and turned back to the fussing he was doing with the detectives.

Grissom held her hands together tightly but nothing seemed to impact the shaking that racked her body.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

Catherine tried to interest him in a cup of coffee, but he waved her away. He sat hunched over in a chair in the hospital lounge. They all sat around him quietly. Appropriate things to say at this point escaped them. Nick, Greg, and Warrick sat along one wall hands clasped like boys at a church service.

Brass showed up, still wearing the untucked button down shirt he grabbed at the motel. He took the coffee Catherine had offered Grissom. "News?" he asked.

Grissom raised his head at the sound of Jim's voice and Catherine shook her head. "How did this happen? How did she get past the deputies?" Grissom asked.

"She didn't. Just told them she needed to go to the station. They put her in a squad and drove her on down. She flashed your ID and no one looked too closely."

Nick chuckled and shook his head.

Jim kept his eyes on Grissom. "This is my fault, Gil. I didn't properly brief those guys. I didn't even see this as a scenario. Doesn't matter. I could have…talked to them about her condition. Let them know that she wasn't…right."

"You wouldn't have known what to say." Malone's gravelly voice interrupted. He walked in with Sam and a pale Danny dressed in a white shirt and slacks. His clothes looked two sizes too big.

"It was really my fault. She basically told me that she was up to something desperate and I didn't listen. I didn't understand what she was saying." Grissom said.

"I don't know…Malone began. "I should have imagined something like this."

Catherine threw back her head and laughed. "We're having fun now. Who's next? Who else wants to take responsibility for what happened?"

A silence fell over the room. Danny stepped out from behind Malone and shook hands with Nick. "Hey crew cut! How's it going?" Nick managed half a grin and then moved over to make room for Danny.

"It's good to see you up, Danny." Grissom's voice was soft. Danny looked over with his sleepy eyes and nodded at him.

Again the room got quiet. Grissom looked over at Brass. "Do you know what they are going to charge her with?"

Brass hit his head. "Hey! Here I bring good news and I forget to tell everyone. D.A. isn't going to charge her with anything."

"You're kidding!" Warrick leaned forward.

"They didn't look closely at her ID and putting her alone in a room with a prisoner was not protocol. Add to that the fact that she is one of his victims, and you have an embarrassment the county wants to sweep under the rug."

"Corcoran could charge her." Greg said.

Brass grinned. "I went to see him. He's all trussed up about two floors above us. Concussion, contusions, and she sprained his neck. I told him I couldn't wait to release to the press how one of his victims tried to kill him with a Birkenstock. Corcoran wasn't amused. I very much doubt he wants anyone to know about this either."

"Thank God." Catherine sank back into her chair. "We needed some good news."

"The information she got. Any of it good?" Grissom pulled his glasses off.

"Serial crime is flying in tonight. They're going to take it." Malone said.

No one said anything. A week ago, ego and ambition would have elbowing each other out of the way to keep this case. But now, they were a room full of tired, disillusioned law enforcement professionals eager to get as far away from this ugliness as possible.

"I say we get Sara and buggy out of this place." Catherine said.

"I know the sheriff here would like to see us gone." Brass yanked a bag of chips out of Greg's hands and began munching away.

Grissom looked at Malone. "What do you think about taking her home now?"

Jack shook his head. "I wanted to talk to you all about that."

"We're listening."

"Sara can't just walk back into her life. She had a psychotic break today. She needs treatment."

Grissom closed his eyes.

Brass thrust the bag back at Greg. "Well, that's okay 'cause we got more than slot machines in Vegas. We'll get her the best therapist in town."

Danny leaned forward. "This is not a weekly appointment kind of situation, Jim."

"We haven't given her any time to heal. In a couple of weeks she'll be fine." Catherine flipped her hair back and glared at Malone.

Jack sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "It's not that simple, Catherine."

"You're not a psychologist. Told me yourself."

"Catherine, listen to him." Danny said.

"No," Catherine was on her feet now. "I won't. Any dummy knows that she needs people around her she knows and who know her. Meeting her a couple of weeks ago just doesn't cut it. You don't know what's best for her. Hell, you don't know her at all."

Sam shouldered past Malone. "We're not trying to take over. We just want to help."

"We don't need your help. We'll take good care of her." Catherine flashed her green eyes at Sam.

Grissom sighed. "Catherine, Jack was going to suggest something. I, for one, want to hear it."

"I have a friend. Her name is Dr. Elliot Cusack. She works on the trauma team for the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Did a lot of work after 9/11 with people who lost co-workers in the towers. She also did work with the families. I talked to her about Sara a couple of days ago."

"You knew back then." Grissom preoccupied himself with cleaning his glasses.

Jack shrugged. "How could she not need trauma counseling. I called her again a couple of hours ago."

"What did she say?" Grissom's practiced nonchalance was betrayed by the shakiness of his hand as he adjusted his glasses.

"She says that Sara probably needs some pretty intensive work. She offered to evaluate and treat her."

"Where?"

"New York. She has an inpatient clinic there and a home in the Catskills where she treats clients as well."

"We'll think about it." Catherine folded her arms across her chest.

Jack focused on Grissom. "Gil, this is an opportunity. She's a nationally recognized expert. She's also a trauma survivor herself. Lost her husband in Pan Am flight 103 shot down over Lockerbee, Scotland. She's also a friend and I trust her."

Grissom nodded. He got up slowly. "I'm going to go see if she is ready for visitors."

They watched him walk slowly down the long hospital corridor, looking everything like a man carrying a large weight on his shoulders.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

He was relieved to see that she lay quietly in the bed without restraints. She looked up at him, and he smiled at her. But already he could see in her glassy eyes that there were only pieces of the Sara he knew.

"I'm on drugs." She murmered.

He chuckled. "Enjoying yourself then?"

"I'm woozy, but I still remember everything that happened. I thought Sanchez was in the same room with Hatfield. I thought Hatfield had special powers, and I thought the third man was trying to break in the room."

"It was too much stress for you. You should nevere have been in that position."

"I tried to kill a man today." She whispered this last bit of information.

"And we now know that Birkenstocks don't cut it in the weapon department." He sat down beside her and found her hand.

"Grissom, what if there had been something heavier in that room. What if—"

"Shuuush! It doesn't matter. We could go on for days. What if I had woken when you left the bed? What if Brass had told the deputies to watch out for erratic behavior from you? This played itself out. You're okay and Hatfield will make it."

She squeezed his hand tightly. "I'm not okay though."

"We're going to get you help, Sara, and you are going to be okay. I promise."

She smiled. "We just never seem to get this right, you and me. When I'm ready, you're not. When you're ready, I'm insane."

"Well, Sara, you should know this about me by now. Once I have settled on something there's no turning back, and I've settled on you."

"I don't know if I can get better, Gris. I feel like I have been sick for so long, even before Hatfield and Sanchez. I don't know who I am any more." Her eyes grew watery.

Grissom swallowed. That fear grew inside him as well. Even if she did recover, would it be the Sara he knew? Did she love him because she needed safety in her life above all else? Predictable, 'By the Book' Grissom who could always be found at work or at home. Fear of this had nagged at him especially after she revealed her childhood. How long would a man like that satisfy her? Something shifted in him slightly, and changed the course of the conversation he planned to have with her. "Sara, I was just talking to Jack. And he knows someone…someone very good who can help you. This doctor really understands trauma and what it can do to a person."

"Jack must know people all over. I should have known that he would know someone like that living in Vegas. Are there openings? I think I should start seeing this person right away."

"This doctor lives in New York, Sara."

"I don't understand. New York? It's too expensive to fly back and forth."

"Jack wants you to stay here. The doctor has a place for you to sleep. There will be no expenses. I will take care of that."

She lifted her head off the pillow. "You're sending me to a hospital to stay?"

"It's not a hospital. She treats clients in all sorts of settings. Jack says she's the best. Says he talked to her and she's willing to take you on immediately."

"You're okay with sending me away?" Tears began to snake down her face.

He shook his head. "I'm not. I want you to stay, but Jack says this is an opportunity, and I also want you to have the best."

"And you believe the best is to be away from you?"

"I could be a distraction, Sara. You need to figure out what's best for you." She tried to pull her hand away but he held on tightly.

"Do you think I am too sick to know what's best for me?" Flashes of the old Sara danced in her eyes.

Grissom didn't answer. He wasn't sure what he thought anymore, and the words he was using were not helping either of them.

She watched him struggle and dropped her head back on the pillow. "I don't want to be mad at you, Gris. I've spent too much time feeling that way."

"I love you, Sara. That's not going to change. But this decision can't be about us, it has to be about you and I think it has to be made by you."

She chewed on her lip. "Then I guess I better starting thinking, huh?"

"Sara?"

"Can I talk to Jack please?" Then she turned her wet face to the wall.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Grissom stared through the glass at Hatfield. He lay in the hospital bed, IV attached, looking everything like a normal human being. Hatfield was sleeping peacefully, and Grissom wondered what could possibly exist in this man's dreams. He could only imagine darkness and pain. Hatfield's face was yellow and purple, and Grissom looked on in admiration at Sara's work. She clearly worked beyond the potential of her resources and he smiled. He was aware that he should probably be feeling some sense of moral concern about her actions and his reactions to it, but he chose not to think about it. There had to be a time when he was just a man who wanted evil defeated no matter the method.

He felt someone standing behind him, but he didn't move. He knew who it was.

"We're leaving on an early flight, 6 a.m."

"Does she want to see me?"

"She told me that she was going to sleep. She didn't ask for you."

"Should I come?"

"And sit in a hotel for three days, three weeks, three months? You're not that kind of man. Let her do what she has to do."

"In the last five years, I haven't been away from her for more than a week. Even when I held her at arm's length, it mattered to me that she was there every day. Can you believe that this is what is on my mind right now?"

"You don't think she'll come back."

"I don't know what I think. You got to take care of her, Jack. She means everything…"

Malone put his hand on Grissom's shoulder. "I'll call you when we get there."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

TBC


	18. chapter 18

So Sara needs to do a little reflecting and Grissom is going to a little collecting and we will see what happens. This will finish by chapter 20 or 21. I will be sorry to see it go. Hopefully, I can work my way back into the everyday responsibilities I have neglected in favor of this diversion. Again, thank you to the many people who follow this story chapter by tortured chapter. You make this all so much fun. And I appreciate your patience and support tremendously. Thanks!

Sheila

**Chapter 18**

**Afraid of the Light**

Sara slung the bag over her shoulder and trudged up the path to the cabin. Behind her, Jack and Danny followed along behind, Jack carrying all of Danny's bags.

Early spring in the Catskills was quite chilly, and Sara hugged Sam's parka tightly to her. A middle-aged woman with shaggy brown hair emerged on the front porch and clapped her hands together. She urged Sara up the stairs as if she was being chased by wolves.

"Elliot!" Came a shout from behind her.

"Jack, come in! And Danny, look at the shadows under your eyes." Sara reached the top step and the woman came over and wrestled her bag away from her. "You must be Sara. Come in, dear."

Silently, Sara followed her into the spacious living room littered with oversize couches weighed down with afghans of many colors. There was a fire dancing in the fireplace. To the left there was a kitchen, and table already set for visitors.

"Are you hungry, Sara?"

Sara shook her head and stood there in the midst of it all, letting Jack and Danny squeeze in around her.

"Elliot, you didn't say you were going to cook." Jack heaved Danny's bags onto one of the couches.

"Oh, I was cooking anyway. And I know you like my spaghetti with meatballs. Sit! All of you. We'll talk and eat."

"Sara's a vegetarian." Danny said, eyeing the still motionless woman.

"Jack told me, but I understand you eat fish, right?" Sara blinked and nodded.

"Good," Elliot clapped her hands. "I also whipped up an easy puttanesca. Sit down, honey." She physically guided Sara to the table and set her in front of a chair.

"It was a long flight and drive. I think everyone is tired." Jack said as he tucked a napkin in his collar and reached for the sauce.

"I hate planes." Elliot said.

"I hate therapy." Sara responded. Movement at the table froze. Sara felt all eyes on her. She couldn't believe that had just come out of her mouth. And then Elliot started to laugh.

"Well, Sara, in your shoes, I would to."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sara flushed. She seemed unable to control herself.

"Ever had a really big test?"

"Yes."

"Therapy is like that. It is a lot of tough, challenging work. You have no idea of the results, and you're not sure how it's going to relate to your real life."

"You don't know me."

"Exactly. Probably not in my best interest or yours to try to tell you what to do."

"Then what's the point?"

"I'm a guide, Sara, not a guru. We'll figure this out together." Elliot picked up the puttanesca sauce and put it in front of her. "Now eat a little something. There's no test right now; nor will there be until you decide you want one."

"Thanks for taking the time, Elliot." Jack said.

Sara reddened as she remembered how this woman was putting herself out for them. She took a handful of noodles and added sauce. None of it appealed to her, but she ate a bit to be hospitable. She was surprised to find that she liked it. She reached over and pulled more pasta into her plate. She saw Danny looking at her with a grin on his face. She narrowed her eyes at him and continued.

"I'm glad you're taking time, Jack. I have been writing an ill advised book, and I was dying for a distraction. It's so quiet up here. I guess I thought that would make me finish it. But, really, it has only been driving me crazy."

"I'll come back on the weekend to see how everything is going."

"That works for me."

"And you're okay with me leaving Danny here. He needs the rest, and, I suspect, Sara could use the familiar face."

Elliot looked up with a forkful of pasta and said. "You going to play me in chess, right?"

Danny nodded.

"Cribbage?"

Danny nodded and smiled.

"Then you can stay."

Sara's eyelids were heavy, but she struggled to stay alert. She managed to make a dent in the mountain of pasta on her plate.

"Okay. Off to bed." Elliot was on her feet. "Come on, Sara."

"I can…I should help."

"Oh, stop. You're exhausted." Elliot slung the bag over her shoulder and marched down the hallway to a rustic bedroom with a big bed loaded down with comforters. She swung the bag onto the bed and pointed out the hallway bathroom and closet. Then she reached over and pulled Sara into a hug. Sara was startled, but listened as the woman told her that she was happy to have finally met her. Then as swiftly as she came, she disappeared. Sara crawled onto the bed and burrowed under the covers. The bag finally fell off the bed in the middle of the night spilling her things all over the floor.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The backlog was unimaginable. Literally, there were case files with nothing but photos; no trace evidence, no fingerprints. Grissom had his entire shift working assembly. Greg processed all current evidence, Sofia did follow-up on missing pieces, and Grissom organized files and prioritized cases.

To be fair, Ecklie had accepted him back with no complaints. He even threw a couple of extra technicians on graveyard. Brass went through cases with an amazing aplomb. Two of his suspects confessed within the same shift. Warrick had dubbed him 'The Priest' for his penchants for securing confessions. Brass seemed to enjoy the nickname as he couldn't help but smile when Nick or Warrick said it.

Grissom was happy to stay at work every waking moment. He would stay until he couldn't concentrate. Then he would go home and sleep. When he woke up, he returned to the lab, rarely consulting the clock before he left. The only machine he was interested in checking when he came home was his voicemail, but there was never a light flashing a message for him when he checked it, and he checked it day after day.

He got an occasional phone call from Jack who basically said everything was fine and Sara was resting and did Grissom want a phone number to reach her at, but Grissom resisted. He wanted contact to be under her control.

Once or twice a night, he woke up in a cold sweat, breathing hard and fast. He wasn't used to nightmares. He had been somewhat successful in impersonalizing his work life to the point that he didn't live the pain of others. But she changed all that, and now he had nightmares. And she was in them; reaching for him, calling, her eyes brimming with terror. And he would try, but he never ran fast enough. It wasn't because he couldn't reach her, he just never ran fast enough. And then, he would lie in the dark, eyes wide and wonder about all of the missed opportunities he'd had with her.

He never expected to be this man; this person who longed for another. He always saw himself as somehow above all of that. A man with desires and needs, but a man in control who could direct those needs as he saw fit. But now every waking moment was consumed with thoughts of her. It was all he could do to concentrate on work. He wasn't used to living life like this, and he wondered how or why people did it.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

She sat down to cereal and a glass of juice. Danny was still sleeping, and Elliot was in her study writing. It had been like this for three days. She woke up, ate, slept, ate, took a walk with Danny, ate, and went back to bed. Occasionally, she queried Elliot about when her work was going to start, and the woman would merely shrug and tell her that Sara would know when it was time.

Sara had to admit that there was something healing in just eating and sleeping without interruption. She enjoyed hanging out with Danny who was always up for games. He taught her how to play cribbage which she found to be more satisfying than chess as chess tried her infamous impatience.

Elliot came padding into the kitchen in sweatshirt and jeans. She smiled at Sara, and pulled a bottled water out of the refrigerator. She sat down next to Sara.

"How you doing today, Honey?"

Sara smiled. "Grissom calls me Honey. Usually when I'm psychotic or near death or something, but I still I like it when he does."

"Who is Grissom?"

Sara choked on a mouthful of Cocoa Pebbles. "Wow! That's the question. Um…he's my boss, my mentor….and my teacher."

"Your boss calls you Honey?"

Sara choked again. "Okay, questions have to happen before I put food in my mouth".

Elliot laughed.

Sara looked down at her bowl for a moment. "I love him. I have for a long time. All of my emotional energy has gone into him for…as long as I can remember."

"Wow. He sounds pretty amazing."

"He is." Sara smiled.

Elliot took a swig off her water and then waited patiently.

"Actually, he's been the source of a lot of heartache. He didn't return my feelings for a very long time or he didn't admit to them. I can't really tell which."

Sara pushed her bowl away. "I'm not being fair. He has always been kind and good to me. But he didn't want deeper involvement than that. He's…older, set in his ways. He's not very emotional, likes to be objective. I guess I would even describe him as naïve when it comes to social interactions."

"Why do you love him?"

Sara wrinkled her brow. "Hmmm. I don't know. I guess I like that he is brilliant… and we have similar interests. I think he is an attractive man although he dresses like…like an accountant."

Sara got quiet for a while.

"Say more," Elliot said softly.

"Hatfield Corcoran was an accountant. Grissom isn't anything like him."

"Corcoran is the man who kidnapped you?"

"Yeah."

"How did Corcoran end up in this conversation?"

Sara blinked. "I don't know. When I was kidnapped, I thought about Grissom a lot. He competed with Corcoran for my attention."

"Interesting choice of words. Are you saying that they are both powerful men in your life?"

"Something like that. Grissom kept coming into my thoughts and dreams. He kept telling me to fight. He wasn't interested in excuses."

"You were at the mercy of madmen, and Grissom was in your head telling you that he didn't want any excuses."

"It was a dream."

"Grissom expects a lot out of you."

Sara thought for a moment. "He does. But I think it is one of the reasons that I love him. He has integrity. He wants to do things well. He doesn't like excuses. He's good."

"And all that represents. He sounds like a knight in shining armor."

Sara let out a deep breath. "I guess so."

"Why would a no nonsense, independent woman like yourself need a knight in shining armor?"

"I used to dream about being rescued when I was a girl." Sara stopped and then made the decision to continue. "There was a lot of violence in my home. Drinking, hitting, yelling. My mother stabbed my father to death when I was thirteen."

Elliot's eyes never left Sara. "I'm very sorry to hear that. You must be an old hand at handling trauma."

"Well, if you can count ignoring it, then I guess I am."

"Have you discovered a suitable alternative to ignoring it yet?"

Sara looked confused. "I don't know."

"Well, let me know when you have." Elliot got up and grabbed her water. "Back to the laptop, I'm afraid."

"Elliot?" Sara looked up. "Was that therapy?"

She smiled. "Yeah. I like to think so."

"That wasn't hard."

"Maybe you know more of the answers to this test than you thought. Stop in when you feel like chatting some more. I am curious as to what you plan to do with this knight in shining armor now that he's finally rescued you."

………………………………………………………………………………………….

Sofia stopped in his doorway. Neither of them really needed to have this conversation, but it was expected. And she was still angry at how he treated her when Sara was taken. She knocked on the door.

"Have a moment?"

He looked up, took his glasses off, and gestured her to a seat. "What can I do for you?"

"We've been working hard around here." She was surprised that this was her choice of opening statement.

"Yes, I am aware. You hit overtime limits before the month was half over. Would you like to talk about taking some time off? You certainly deserve it."

She pursed her lips in annoyance. "Actually, I would like to talk about the fact that a month ago, we slept together, more than once, and now you won't talk to me unless it's case related."

He took a deep breath. "I didn't realize you had made an emotional attachment."

She arched a brow. "Your kidding, right? This is not about an emotional attachment. This is about common courtesy and closure and things that are supposed to happen when…I don't know."

"You're very sexy. And to me, one of the sexiest parts about you was your ability to not involve yourself emotionally in our affair. It felt freeing. If I misjudged that, I am truly sorry."

"You didn't." She searched for the right words. "The problem was that you discarded me without even a backward glance. I am not used to that."

"Oh, I am sorry. I have been very preoccupied over the last few weeks." Grissom regarded her dispassionately.

"You are with her now, I take it."

"You are referring to Sara?"

She gave an exasperated sigh. "Who else? I just think I deserve better."

He thought for a moment. "Sofia, you are a remarkable criminalist and you are a beautiful woman. You do deserve better than to be seduced and discarded, but I didn't form an emotional attachment to you nor did you to me, and I assumed that, because of that, the situation didn't require the formalities of a break-up."

"She is an emotional powder keg, Grissom. I don't think you are prepared for that."

"I am sure that I'm not. But she's my powder keg so I will ask you kindly to stay out of it."

"People talk."

Grissom stood up. "True. And some people answer other people's phones when they know it will hurt someone. I don't care what people say. I have spent too much of my time caring about what people said. And I am done with them and I'm done with this conversation. If I have treated you in a way that you find demeaning, then feel free, as my employee, to lodge a complaint. I won't oppose it. Clear?"

Sofia stood up. She turned at the door. "I do not feel demeaned by you and so a complaint is not necessary. But you surprise me. I always considered you to be a man of better common sense." With that she left, her considerable mane of hair trailing after her.

Grissom rubbed his face and returned to the files in front of him.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

There was still snow in the ditches and the hollows of the hilly landscape. But mostly, Sara was captivated by the naked trees everywhere. It was ghostly how they rattled in the wind. As a California girl, she was used to barren landscape but these trees both amazed and frightened her. Danny walked beside her and noted her fascination.

"I was born in Florida."

"California girl," she replied.

"Weather is harsh up here, but there is something I like about it. There is such a sense of passage, birth, renewal. It's like getting a primer on life every time a season changes."

She smiled at him and tucked her arm through his. "I like that, Danny."

"You know, I knew that getting shot would be a thing, but it really changes your life. I can't believe what a struggle it has been to find strength again. And I think of all the things in my life that I've been taking for granted." He let out a long sigh.

"Elliot been talking to you too?"

"I should have known that I wasn't coming here just to keep you company."

"You don't mind?"

"No, not really. I've worked with Elliot on a couple of cases. I know she is good people."

"You really trust Jack, don't you?"

"I guess it's sort of like what you feel for Grissom." He said.

"You want to sleep with Jack?" She asked, a grin tugging at the edges of her mouth.

He threw back his head and laughed. "No, I do not want to sleep with Jack."

"I want to sleep with my boss."

"Told Elliot that yet?"

"Why?"

"I don't know. The idea of you two has got to be great material for the therapist's couch."

"She thinks he's my knight in shining armor. She wonders why I need one."

He turned his dark eyes to her. "You don't agree."

She shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. I didn't have the kind of childhood that most kids have. I never dreamed about being the princess, but I did always dream about being rescued. Fantasizing about rescue and safety has been a big part of my life."

"Are you worried that your feelings for Grissom aren't real?"

"Oh, they are real. I just don't know if they are based in something healthy and lasting."

"Well that opens the door for some opportunities then." He winked at her.

"Sorry, Danny, no way am I going to screw up this friendship."

"Always the bridesmaid, never the bride." He clutched his chest dramatically.

She laughed and scooped up some of the wet snow at her feet. He put a hand up to warn her off, but she threw it at his face. It disintegrated inches from her hands. "I can't get the hang of snowballs."

"Listen girl, it's all in the formation of the ball. You don't learn this in sunny California." He picked up some snow and packed it firmly. Then he aimed at her and she ran. He landed one solidly on her back. She squealed and hid behind a tree. She shoveled up more snow and packed it well. Soon the two of them were snow covered and wet, faces red and breathing heavy. She leaned against a tree slumped over and laughed. Her laughing became more insistent, frantic. Then Danny could see the tears forming. He pulled her to him and held her tightly while she collapsed in desperate sobs.

"I don't know why, Danny. I don't know why I'm crying."

"It's okay. Don't worry about it. Just let it out, Sara. Let it out."

………………………………………………………………………………

Malone's phone rang late. He was drifting off on his couch, the T.V. showing Ten Best Resorts of the Meditearanean. He had just figured that he would last about two weeks at the high end hotel on the isle of Crete using all of his retirement, and the damn thing didn't even have a bar in the middle of the pool.

He pasted the phone to his face and grunted. A familiar deep voice erupted on the other end.

"Hey there, Malone. How's the Big Apple treating you these days?"

"Goodwater, how are you?"

"I'm hanging, Jack, I'm hanging." Jack smiled at the deep Texas drawl Agent Goodwater still cultivated in his speech.

"What can I do for you, Rupert?"

"You wanted an update on Robbie Sanchez and I'm giving you one."

Jack sat forward. "You got him."

"Yup. We sure did. Hand in the cookie jar. Had a teen-age runaway girl in the basement and everything. Claimed he was trying to help her get home. Girl was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. She'd only been there two days, Thank God."

"Damn! Good news! I'm glad, Rupert. Good work!"

"You got that criminalist girl up there with you, don't you?"

"She's getting treated."

"Well, I want you to pass on that we found him so quickly 'cause of her scribblings on that legal pad. She got good information out of Corcoran before she beaned him with the flip flops."

Jack grinned. "She'll want to know that."

"He had some real dirty shovels, Jack. And you know what that means. So we did a little digging in his backyard. Found skeletons, four of them. We think there is 2-4 more in there. CNN's got a remote crew setting up across the street as we speak. It's going to be on the news everywhere. Thought you might want to keep that girl away from the T.V. Kind of hard to see what might have been, you know. Thereby the grace of God go I and all that."

"Appreciate your thoughtfulness, Rupert." Jack knew that Rupert's down home folksyness was not only a result of an upbringing as a rancher's son, he also used it to mask a keen intellect. Being underestimated could be a powerful weapon in the law enforcement field.

"Going to be awhile on identifications and all. A couple of the skeletons still have flesh attached. Full of bugs. Hear you had a bugman who worked this case earlier. We sure could use a bugman out here. We're out in the boonys here in Arizona. Can't find anyone who knows a good goddamn about bugs. Our bug guys are all tied up. I checked. You got a way we can wrangle that bugman. We sure could use him."

"I could talk to him. Might be a hard sell though. His lab is pretty backed up."

"I hear he's an A #1 bugman. And we want to put some girls to rest here, so we're going to need some solid information about TOD and all that. I would owe you, Jack."

"I'll talk to him. The trick is the sheriff, Rory Atwater."

"Oh, hell, Rory! I know Rory that beady eyed son of a bitch. I got this. I'll call him and promise him free publicity that'll make his head spin. I'll make him think we can't get a darn thing done without his help."

"Okay, Rupert, I'll let you handle this. I want to thank you for taking the time to call. I'm going to see Sara Sidle, in a couple of days. I will pass on your kind words."

"Girl's grandma and grandpa came to pick her up this afternoon. Tears everywhere. I got all choked up myself. You tell that gal that she made a real difference. And if that Corcoran gets all antsy and wants to fuss about being smacked around some, well, I promise you, Jack, that Ol' Rupert Goodwater will show him what a real smacking around is all about, if you know what I mean."

Jack chuckled. "I got it. Thanks again for calling, Rupert."

…………………………………………………………………………………………

TBC


	19. afraid 19

Hello! Such feedback I am getting. I should address what I can. First, I am sorry for describing California as barren. I am a Minnesota girl where three seasons are very lush and green and mostly tree filled except for the plains in the south. I have been in the bay area, but mostly south of San Fran. Remembered San Jose to be sort of brown. Sorry!

Also, there is some confusion about Sofia. Long fic. No one's fault but my own. In the first chapter, it is revealed that Sofia answered Grissom's phone when Sara called in order to embarrass her thereby alerting Sara to the fact that he went with Sofia to Palm Springs for the weekend. Shocking, no? Yes, they did have sex…in my fic, but of course I didn't document such a travesty. I started this fic right after Unbearable which was unbearable to watch.

Also there is concern that Grissom should be with Sara as she heals. Methinks no. She is seeking treatment, and she has to untangle issues that involve him. So they are doing it this way.

Elliot Cusack and Rupert Goodwater are merely figments of my imagination. They are not players on the actual show, WaT.

Please don't stop with the feedback, critical or otherwise. It tells me that you are reading, and that means a great deal to me. Thanks for being here with me. It is making my busy life more bearable.

Next chapter will be Wednesday or Thursday morning.

sheila

**Chapter 19 **

**Afraid of the Light**

Grissom stepped gingerly over the yellow tape to the crime scene. Behind him walked a deputy carrying his kit. A large FBI agent named Goodwater had greeted him at the car, and, in booming twang, was guiding him across the yard. Grissom was bemused by the agent who was treating him as one would a long lost relative.

"This way, Grissom. We saved every last critter for you. Nothing's been touched. Had one of my men take about a zillion shots of those bugs for you. Going to be able to work okay with that bad wing, are you?"

Grissom arched a brow at the man. "I should be fine. I have everything I need."

"We want to do this right. These girls are due some respect about now. I understand you are familiar with this case. We caught quite a break getting you out here, you knowing the case and being a bugman and all."

"Robbie Sanchez has confessed?"

"Hell, yes. Didn't bring any flip flops to the interrogation, but got the story out of him anyway."

"Flip flops?" Grissom looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

"In reference to your gal, Sidle. How's she doing? She broke this case right open, you know." Goodwater slapped him on the back.

"I believe she is doing well." Grissom got stiffer with every step.

"Well, you tell her that we owe her a debt. I have been working these serial cases for twenty years. There's nothing like that the thrill of catching one of these assholes. And the fact that she got to rough up one of them, well, that's just icing on the cake. Once they're in federal custody, we got to treat 'em better than grandma on her 90th birthday."

"I'll be sure to send your regards."

Goodwater walked ahead waving his arms at the agents crowding the dig site. "Hey Boys and Girls! Make room. We got a bugman. He needs his space."

Agents scattered in his wake. Grissom winced at the attention as Goodwater loudly made his presence known. Goodwater was pointing and gesturing about the site, sending agents scrambling in all directions. Then he turned to Grissom. "You sure you have everything? You need one thing, you just holler and one of my folks will get you set right up. You hear?"

Grissom managed a tight smile before edging away toward the dig site. Goodwater chuckled and walked away. Grissom turned to find six eager agents frozen waiting for him to give the word. He cocked his head at the hot sun, let his eyes travel the area of the dig, scratched at the back of his neck, and then started barking orders.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"He's a small man like his father." Danny said as he watched Robbie Sanchez being brought in for arraignment on CNN. He leaned forward as the man was herded into a courthouse amidst a crowd of agents. Sara stared at the screen silently. She had pulled an afghan across her legs, and was twisting tightly at the corner of it.

A disembodied voice told a grisly story of kidnapped girls and buried bodies, and the camera turned to a small house on the edge of town. It was a yellow house surrounded by yellow dust and sand. Crews of people with shovels and FBI emblazoned on their jackets were working methodically in the backyard of the house. A large agent was waving away reporter's requests for interviews.

Elliot reached over and clicked the T.V. off. Then the three of them sat in silence.

Sara turned to Danny. "Do you remember what he looked like?"

"Well, he was standing over me with a shotgun so I have images, but it was raining, and so what I remember is mostly a blur."

"I don't remember his face at all."

"Is that a good thing?" Elliot asked.

"I don't know. Is it?"

She shrugged. "I don't know either, Sara."

"Jack said that they found him based on the interview you did with Corcoran." Danny nudged her with his shoulder.

Sara chuckled. "That was no interview. From now on, we refer to that as Sara's psychotic adventure."

Elliot shook her head. "You weren't psychotic when you went in there. You went in because you believed that this was a way to help other girls and their families. You went in thinking that it would help you heal. Pretty noble stuff, Sara."

Sara snorted. "It was stupid, not noble."

"Makes me wonder if you are not the knight in shining armor yourself."

Danny grinned. "I like that, Elliot. Good work!"

"Let's not get carried away, people." Sara folded her arms tightly against her chest.

"Hell, why not? The only one who wants to see you as a crazy person is you. The rest of us see a pretty amazing woman."

"Elliot—"

"Sara, they pay me for this, okay."

"So, you don't mean it?"

"No, I'm just playing your game." Elliot winked at her.

"She got you there, Sara." Danny nodded his head up and down.

"Sara, at some point you are going to have to face the fact that the biggest dragon in your life that needs slaying is the one you create to punish yourself."

Sara sat, stunned.

"Hatfield, Alberto, and Robbie Sanchez have no problem invading a psyche that is already so pummeled with what you have done to yourself."

Sara wrinkled her face in anger and looked at Elliot. "So you're telling me that I am just doing all of this to myself."

Elliot shook her head. "Sara, I am saying that you don't protect yourself emotionally. You went in there to help others, but also because you were impatient with your fears. Even now, after your efforts saved lives, the only word you can use to describe your actions is 'stupid'. Think about it."

Sara scrunched her face up in confusion.

"You're the knight in shining armor for the people who are victimized like you once were, but you're never the princess who deserves to be saved."

"I can't afford to be weak."

"Can you afford to be loved? Truly loved? Taken care of? Cherished?"

Sara rubbed angrily at her eyes. Danny grabbed her hand and held it tightly.

"Sara, you were abused, kidnapped, starved, deprived. And that was just last week. In your life, you have witnessed horrible things, and you have sentenced yourself to a life of righting wrongs that you had no part in committing. That is you."

Sara bit her lip as sobs tried to escape.

"If you and I were working on a case together, and we heard a victim's story and it was the same as what you have experienced, you know what you'd say?"

Sara shook her head.

"Well, the two of us would be having a conversation about how this survivor needs all the love, care, and tenderness possible in order to recover. And you would be backing that idea all the way. But you, my friend, only allow that kind of compassion for others. Your own pain signals messages of weakness and insanity and stupidity. You offer such kindness for the people you serve. Why don't you deserve it too?"

"I don't know." The words came out in a burst of emotion.

"Think about it, Honey." Elliot reached out and hugged her tightly. Then she got up. "I'm going to make you some tea, and you can sit here with Danny boy and watch movies. Don't stress yourself. Just think about it as it comes to you. Tomorrow, you can tell me some of those thoughts. They don't have to be solutions, just ideas, okay?"

Sara nodded. Elliot walked over to her DVD case and shuffled through. "We need to find something safe to watch. We have Godfather I and II—very violent, Casino—violent and Vegas, Jaws—a fish serial killer- no, Silence of the Lam—oops, definitely not, ah…Tootsie…Hey, any of those assholes do any cross dressing?"

Sara shook her head.

"Well that's what you're watching then." Elliot threw the DVD at Danny and disappeared into the kitchen.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

The road side bar was located about a block down from the motel where law enforcement was housed. After dusk, officers and agents wandered down to the bar for the burgers and beer. Grissom followed them, his leather satchel slung over his shoulder.

He wandered into the smoky bar and wrinkled his nose. The foggy air irritated him. He shuffled onto the back of the bar and found a table in the corner. He sat down and pulled papers out of his bag. A skinny blonde waitress showed up, and thrust a menu at him. He handed it back to her and told he wanted a beer and the special.

He returned to his notes chronicling the life cycles on the insects he had recovered from the corpses. Some of the notations didn't seem congruent on one of the corpses and he was looking for a pattern to emerge.

A beer bottle slammed on the table covered by a meaty hand. Grissom looked up to find the indomitable Agent Goodwater standing in front of him. Goodwater pulled up a chair and sat down across from Grissom.

"Mind if I join you for a moment?"

Grissom gathered up his notes and put them back into his satchel. "What can I do for you, Agent Goodwater?"

"Just wanted a few minutes with someone who doesn't want my job one day." Goodwater waved over the waitress. "Two more, sweetie, and keep 'em coming."

"How'd the arraignment go?"

"Good. But Robbie's a slippery one. I am not sure we know everything we need to about him."

Grissom took off his glasses. "Oh?"

"He hints at more. Says he wants to talk to your gal, Sara Sidle. Says he will tell her things."

Grissom stiffened immediately and spoke to Goodwater in a low voice. "Not going to happen. Do you understand me?"

Goodwater grinned. "I am way ahead of you partner. Wouldn't put her through something like that again no matter what the payoff. There have to be limits."

Grissom sighed and visibly relaxed.

"I did throw him a bone. Told him you were here. I think I peaked his curiosity. Interested in taking a shot at him?"

Grissom shrugged. "I'm not sure what I can do. I had mixed results with Corcoran."

"Why don't you come in with me tomorrow? We'll do the interview together."

"Okay." Grissom looked up and gave a thin smile to the waitress as she put the burger special in front of him.

"Those bugs gonna help us?"

Grissom nodded, his mouth full of food.

"Good. This is the hardest part, you know. You get the bastard, but then you gotta sit around and clean up his mess. Already I've got almost 300 missing person files on my desk, and getting calls from detectives across the country every hour with more girls." Goodwater shook his head and took another swig off his bottle.

"Twenty years is a long time to be in serial crime."

A grin pulled at one side of the man's craggy face. "Glutton for punishment, I guess. Believe or not, I started out as a cop in Jersey. Brought my rural ass up there 'cause I wanted to be a big city cop. Got one helluva education. I will tell you that."

"How'd you get interested in serial crime at the bureau?" Grissom found the gregarious man to be of more substance than he originally thought.

"Long story. Suffice it to say, I wasn't even sure I wanted to stay in law enforcement after Jersey was done with me. But the FBI happened to be in the right place at the right time. I got in right when Ted Bundy turned serial crime into the next big thing. Had to be part of the excitement. And I just never left." There was a wistfulness to his narrative.

"What keeps you going?"

Goodwater set his mouth in thought, and then dug around in his back pocket. He pulled out a wallet, rifled around inside, and picked out a slightly tattered photo. Grissom took it from him. There was a beautiful blonde woman holding two little Asian girls.

"Those are my girls. Hard to believe that a big ol' gomer like myself could hook up with this classy trio, but it's true. So I don't ask any deep questions about life, and just thank my lucky stars every day for what I have."

"You have a lovely family."

"Yup. I guess I do this all for them. It's hard to be away, but my wife wants me to do something I think is important, and I still get to talk to my girls every night before they get to sleep."

"Adopted?"

"Oh, yeah. Pregnancies are dangerous for my wife. But I wouldn't have it any other way. I love my little Chinese girls."

Grissom grinned a little and shook his head. "You're in your fifties."

"Never too late, bugman. I will go into my golden years watching my girls grow, and I'll love every minute of it. You have kids, wife?"

Grissom shook his head. "I guess I'm married to my career."

"Career doesn't keep you warm at night. A smart man like yourself ought to know that."

Grissom folded his hands in front of him. "I think you're lucky, Goodwater. My situation is different, I'm afraid. I do care for someone, but it's complicated."

Goodwater threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Grissom, son, you don't know complicated. I guarantee you that I have a Ph.-Friggin'-D in complicated relationships."

"You care to elaborate on that?" Grissom was a little annoyed with Goodwater's arrogance.

"Call me Rupert, please." His face was pink from laughing.

"Okay, Rupert, care to elaborate?"

Goodwater's cell phone went off, and he grabbed it off his belt. His gruff greeting into the receiver changed immediately. He began talking in patient, simple sentences to someone about tea parties, pink, frilly pajamas, and Winnie the Pooh videos. His face softened and a dreamy smile played on his lips. He waved absently at Grissom and wandered out the door to talk to his girls in the moonlight under a street light. Grissom followed him with his eyes until he disappeared and was left with a feeling in his gut that there was a good deal more to know about Rupert Goodwater.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Sara sat at the top of a hill and watched Jack Malone emerge from a sedan. Elliot came down the steps and gave him a big hug. Together they disappeared into the cabin. Sara turned to Danny and smiled. "You going to go back with him?"

"Yup. Need to start some physical therapy. Get back to my apartment, my life."

"Elliot asked me to stay a couple more days. Says our conversation is not finished."

"Good. I'm glad. Already you seem so much better."

She looped her arm through his and laid her head on his shoulder. "You're a good friend, Danny."

"I know. Everyone says so." He grinned while she giggled.

She stopped and searched his dark eyes for a moment. "Why is it so easy for me to be with you?"

Danny shrugged. "We understand each other. Respect each other."

"And if it wasn't for Grissom?"

Danny's eyebrows raised. "Only you can answer that question, Sara."

She bit her lip and sighed. "If Grissom was not my focus, I think you and I would be passionate lovers and ecstatically happy right now. It would be great. And then in a few months, I think we would wonder why we had ruined such a great friendship. That's what I think."

"Hmm. Well, I have heard of worse ways to break up a friendship."

"I need someone in my life like you; someone who knows what it is like to face the world alone when you are only a child. You understand the struggles that still exist for me. You know my fears. I have always felt so isolated, and then you came into my life, and I feel almost like I have a brother."

"That works for me too. Let me tell you something. Okay?" Danny turned to face her, taking her hands in his. "You need to remember what Elliot has said to you because you deserve everything you are so willing to give to others. And let me tell you something about Grissom." He let out a heavy sigh. "He's good for you. I don't know why exactly, but I really believe that. He would do anything for you. I think that both of you have wasted too much time overanalyzing what this relationship is and what it should be. I think your heart tells you everything you need to know."

"I don't think I am coming to New York to live."

He nodded. "You always can come visit."

"And you'll come to Vegas?"

"Do you have any showgirl friends?" He grinned.

She slapped his shoulder.

"Jack doesn't like to be kept waiting." Danny looked at her.

She pulled him into a tight hug. "Take care, Danny Taylor. You hear? I still need you."

He got up and extended a hand to her. "You coming?"

She shook her head. "Give Jack my regards. I think I just want to sit up here for a while."

She watched him make his way down the hill and into the cabin. She pulled her knees up to her chin, and let the wind blow hair across her face.

…………………………………………………………………………………..

Robbie was shackled at his hands and ankles. The orange jumpsuit left his skin looking sallow and pale. The stubble of an unshaven face belied his youth. Still only in his mid twenties and already on his way to becoming a serial killing legend. Eight bodies recovered in his back yard. The kid didn't even have a parking ticket on his record.

The deputy roughing pushed him at a chair, and he stumbled into it, slumping down. Grissom didn't see much of his father in him. He seems five younger than he was, and he didn't have the hard face of his father.

Goodwater waved the deputy out of the room. Then he got up, went over to the kid, and helped settle him into the chair. The kid looked up with a dark stare. Grissom stared back at him.

"All right, Robbie. You comfortable 'cause you know I am all about your comfort." Goodwater circled the room away from the kid. "Brought you a visitor, Robbie. This is Dr. Gilbert Grissom. He was part of the team that got your dad and that little freak, Corcoran. Thought you might like to meet him."

Robbie cocked his head and stared at Grissom without shame. "Hello, Dr. Grissom." Then he turned back to Goodwater. "I wanted to see Sara."

Grissom opened his mouth, but Goodwater got there first. "Robbie, we're going to leave that idea to your nightly dreams 'cause she's not coming anywhere near you ever."

"I was only going to talk to her. I know her. Spent time with her, you know."

"Never going to happen." Grissom's voice was low and slow.

"You must hate that I saw her like that; vulnerable, suffering, afraid. I touched her when she was unconscious. My father and I discussed how to best make her scream when it was time."

Grissom was paralyzed by the young man's words. It was all he could do to stay in control.

"Shut up, Robbie. Your Hannibal Lector routine is boring. Can't pull it off with your baby face and average IQ." Goodwater growled at him from the corner of the room. "Nobody gives a fig about what you almost did to her, because she beat you guys, made you and your dad look like the gang who couldn't shoot straight. Hell, if she was here, she'd just look at your sorry, handcuffed ass and laugh."

Goodwater's words pulled Grissom out of his rage. "Did you want to see me so you could tell me what you failed to do?"

"I bet you have the all figured out, Dr. Grissom, don't you? In your mind, you have already solved this whole thing."

"Oh, no, I still have questions. My bugs are the ones asking them. The larvae on the two decomposing corpses near the top have varied life cycles. This is not what I usually see in a situation like this. So I definitely do have questions."

"What do you think it means?"

Grissom took a deep breath. "I think there are more bodies, at least two more. And I think you moved them."

Goodwater sucked in air. For a moment, there was silence. Robbie sat back and relaxed. Goodwater exploded. "Well, Robbie, what do you say? Is it true?"

Robbie gazed at Grissom. "How many, Grissom? I want to know how many you think there are."

Grissom thought for a moment. "There are two, Robbie. Why did you move them?"

"Because they were too near the surface. Dogs were digging."

Grissom licked his lips. "Where did you put them?"

Robbie just stared, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.

Goodwater slammed his fist on the table in front of Robbie. "So help me God, if you play a game with us, I will make your misery my personal mission in life."

"I was going to bury them in the corner of the yard, but I decided not to."

"Tell us more, Robbie." Grissom spoke in a whisper.

"I want to show you. It's the best."

Goodwater laughed. "I bet you do. CNN covering it live, helicopters following you while you point to where you buried those poor girls, searing you into the memories of people forever. You sure are ready for your 15 minutes, aren't you?"

"They aren't in the backyard." Robbie said.

Grissom rubbed his beard. "What do you want?"

"I want you to go with me. Just you. I will take you to the girls."

Goodwater snorted. "Is that all, Robbie? Maybe I should get you some nice running shoes."

Robbie looked at him. "You can come too. You can walk behind us."

"Why do you want to do this?"

"I want to walk the soil one last time. I want to say good-bye."

"Robbie, if this is some kind of joke, I will kill you with my bare hands on live T.V. and walk away to the thunderous applause of every agent on site."

"We do it early tomorrow. At dawn. You show us where you put those girls." Grissom finished and got up, walking out of the room without a backward glance.

Goodwater folded his arms. "See what a downer you are, Robbie. Usually he hugs everyone when he leaves. You ruined that for me. You hear?"

……………………………………………………………………

TBC


	20. chapter 20

Hi! Finally, I am back with Chapter 20. This is either pretty good or I can give Days of Our Lives a run for their money in the melodrama department. Either way, I wrote what I felt. One more chapter left, and I am both excited and dreading the end of this story. Thanks to all of you who have stayed with me. You are wonderful. Please let me know how this chapter feels to you. Thanks.

Sheila

**Chapter 20**

**Afraid of the Light**

Sara sat on the finished wooden counter and watched Elliot roll out pie dough. As she workedt, Elliot gave a running commentary on dough and the specific techniques involved in a flaky crust. Elliot had a nice, low tone, and while Sara had no real interest in mastering pie dough, she was entranced by her stories. Elliot worked the dough, careful not to melt the cold butter cut into the flour; this being the key to flaky crust. Then she folded the dough over half and then over again. She picked it up and laid it in the greased pie pan, and then carefully unfolded it. She spooned apples mixed with sugar, flour, lemon, cinnamon, butter, and nutmeg onto the dough. She placed another triangle of dough on top and unfolded it on top. She kneaded the dough together, and cut a lattice on top with a knife.

"How will I know when I am ready?"

"You'll know." She opened the oven and placed the pie inside.

"I do feel better, but what'll happen when I leave."

"I suppose you will do well sometimes, and poorly other times."

"Elliot, am I well?" Sara's voice rose.

She leaned against the refrigerator and smiled at Sara. "No. You are just as crazy as the rest of us."

"Elliot!"

"More bad things have happened to you than most other people. That makes life harder for you. How you take care of yourself is really going to make the difference."

"So the trick is lots of TLC for me."

Elliot pushed away from the refrigerator. She walked over to Sara. "Listen to me, okay. You were kidnapped. How terrifying! I can't even imagine. You need time to get your balance back. You need time to feel safe again. That's different than the Sara theory of struggles which requires that you immediately jump back into the game and swallow your fears. Feeling shaky? Well, in your mind, the solution to that is to sneak out in the middle of the night and put yourself alone in a room with your kidnapper. Do you understand what I am saying to you?"

"I need to be easier on myself."

Elliot took her hands in hers. "And be patient. Sometimes, in life, we need to be afraid or angry or unsure. Don't always be so impatient with what is a process in life. It is okay for you to not feel safe right away. It is part of your recovery. Things will come back to you in stages. Let it happen that way."

"Patience." Sara echoed.

"In a month, you will be sitting at work and something will happen. Maybe a smell or a memory or something else will trigger a flashback. The old Sara would probably force herself to persevere, maybe challenge herself to face it whether she is ready or not. That Sara has no time for weakness. Do you know what new Sara should do?"

Sara shook her head.

"Find someone who can do this." Elliot reached over and hugged her tightly. She spoke into her ear. "Let people love you."

"Grissom?"

"You tell me." Elliot opened the oven door slightly to check the crust.

"Is my love for him real or just my need for someone safe?"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't know. Sometimes, we just love people. Reasons are not always that important."

"He means so much to me." Sara couldn't meet Elliot's eyes.

"Well, he sounds mighty special then, doesn't he?"

"What if…?"

"Sara, stop. Take care of yourself. Know yourself as others do. That will take care of all of these 'what ifs'. Understand?"

"I'm a little scared."

"Then I think you should have a nice hot slice of apple pie with a scoop of cinnamon ice cream. And we can talk about it until you feel better." Elliot bent over and opened the oven again. The warm, aromatic air drifted to Sara and she inhaled deeply. For a moment, she felt as safe as she always dreamed possible.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Grissom ran his fingers through his hair. For a moment, he couldn't remember if he showered before he came out to the site. He realized he must have as his hair was still damp. He had only slept a couple of hours and now he stood at the Sanchez house as dawn approached. In the distance squad cars drove down the highway in his direction; lights still on in the hazy light of early morning.

The air was crisp, and Grissom was glad for the FBI jacket that Goodwater lent him. The large agent was about fifty feet from him, barking into a walkie talkie. Grissom heard a low hum and turned to the west. Two helicopters were circling in the distance.

Dust kicked up as the squads lined up in the front drive. Deputies with rifles and agents in suits and dark glasses emerged. In the middle car, an agent dragged an orange clad Sanchez out of the back seat of the cruiser.

Goodwater came striding toward them. He started talking to Grissom as he passed him. "Media is in the helicopters. If they get closer than a quarter mile I'm going to shoot them out of the sky with my revolver. They have been advised."

The agents clustered together around the killer. Goodwater walked into the midst and pulled Sanchez out of the crowd by his arm. Sanchez stumbled after Goodwater, still shackled at his ankles and wrists.

Goodwater turned to the assembled. "Gentlemen, ladies, this is how it is going down this morning. Grissom, our bugman, and I will be going for a walk with Robbie. He has agreed to show us the pleasures of this fine countryside. Now, people, I am sorry to say that this is a private party. Robbie only wants me and Grissom. Nothing personal, I'm sure. We'll just take a nice little stroll. Now, I have the talkie with me. If I yell for assistance, I want you out there and on Sanchez like blueberry jam on a white Easter dress. Understood?" The agents and deputies shifted back and forth. It was clear that they were not easy about this plan. Murmurs rippled through the ranks.

"You ready, Grissom?" Goodwater grabbed Sanchez and propelled him toward the open field behind the house.

Grissom grasped Sanchez by the arm before he fell face first into the gravel. He pulled him upright and then pulled his hand away abruptly. Robbie grinned at him, and settled in beside Grissom. "I'm glad you're here."

Grissom walked beside him silently.

"My father was afraid of her. I wanted you to know that. He could tell she was going to be fierce." Robbie looked over at Grissom for reaction.

"I don't want to know this." Grissom hissed.

"He wanted me to take her. Said she was perfect for me. I was going to."

Grissom looked away.

"But then he wanted to wait. Thought he could starve her enough so that she was docile. He misjudged her."

Grissom slowed to let Robbie walk ahead of him, but Robbie stopped to match his pace. "I wish he would have let me take her, you know. I would have done it right. It would have been art."

Grissom stopped. He turned and stared at the man with the baby face. "You're a dead man, Sanchez, desperate to establish yourself before you are nothing but a distant memory. You have no charisma. The numbers you killed alone are not enough to make you indelible. But I promise you that I will remember you. I will keep your memory alive long after you are a pale, sad ghost rotting away in a cell waiting for one last stay of execution. And do you know what I am going to tell everyone?" Grissom smiled. "I'm going to tell them that you tried too hard. I'm going to tell them that you were desperate and it showed. You will always be remembered as the little killer who tried too hard."

Goodwater laughed heartily from behind them. "The little serial killer that couldn't. I like that, Grissom. Robbie, you are derivative. Nothing original about you. How do you like that?"

The young man glared at Goodwater and shuffled ahead. The sun rose above the horizon. Their trek was slow and arduous and it became clear that Robbie wasn't going straight toward anything. Goodwater pushed him hard and threatened an end to the field trip. Robbie wandered toward a large rock that sat on the desert floor as a long oblong. He rested against the rock for a moment and then started moving toward the east. Grissom heard him muttering under his breath. It sounded like he was counting. Grissom leaned closer, but Robbie moved away and muted his sounds. Robbie finally stopped at a lone tree split from a storm many years past. He murmured something and Grissom was almost sure he said the number, 87. Robbie turned to Grissom. "Here are your precious girls."

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

Elliot had the cell phone in one hand as she shook Sara. "Wake up, girl. Come watch the news."

Sara in shorts and a t-shirt stumbled after Elliot. In the living room, the T.V. was on CNN. Blurry eyed she stared at the screen. It was a wideshot of desert floor, figures vague in the distance. A reporter was explaining that Robbie Sanchez was leading investigators to the two last girls of his killing spree. As her eyes focused, she could make out three figures on the screen; two of them wore FBI jackets and the third was in an orange jumpsuit. She looked back at Elliot in confusion.

"Hold on, Sara. They'll get in closer."

Sara turned back to the screen. She noticed something familiar about the gait of one of the FBI agents; a slightly bowlegged gait. She leaned forward. The camera zoomed in from a distance and she caught the grainy picture of a man with silver curls and beard. She sucked in breath sharply. "It's him." She whispered.

Elliot nodded and slid her cell phone into her pocket. Sara stayed glued to the screen. Again, the camera moved in closer and she could see him in profile. He reached up and rubbed at his eyes beneath his glasses. "He looks really worn."

"He's been helping FBI with Sanchez in Arizona." Elliot said quietly.

She turned her head sharply at Elliot. "What do you know?"

"I just talked to Jack. He says that Robbie wanted Grissom to go with him to the site of the last graves."

"He can't be everywhere, do everything. Why isn't he in Vegas? He's had a hard time too."

"Jack says they needed help with bugs. Then he got sucked into the interview. It will be over soon."

Sara glared at Elliot, and then stalked off to the bedroom. She returned a few minutes later in jeans and a sweatshirt. She grabbed her jacket off a hook.

"Sara?"

"I need to take a walk." Her voice was choked with emotion. She bounded out the door.

Elliot went to the window and watched her leave. Then she pulled out the cell phone again and dialed. "Jack, I think we're ready."

………………………………………………………………………………………….

It had been hours. The sun rose high in the sky. Grissom had long since lost his borrowed jacket. The heat blistered his face with sweat. He had already gone through 2 liters of water, but thirsted for more. Agents were digging at various points in the desert sand. Goodwater stood next to Sanchez who was seated in the shade of a large rock. They had been at it about two hours, but had yet to find anything. Sanchez gave them a general area, but said he couldn't remember specifics.

Grissom squinted against the bright light. He had forgotten sunglasses in his early morning fog. He kept his attention on Sanchez. The man sat casually, seemingly unconcerned about the events around him. He tried to have conversation with Goodwater, but the agent largely ignored him. Grissom noticed that Sanchez occasionally stole glances off to the west with some intensity. He caught him mouthing words, and it brought him back to Sanchez's whispered number.

At noon, an agent hit something solid. All work stopped so that Grissom could more carefully excavate the area. It quickly became clear that they had found a human corpse. A team was assembled to work the excavation. Grissom came over and gave Goodwater the word. The agent grabbed Sanchez under an arm and dragged him to his feet. The cuffs stretched his arms and he howled. Goodwater continued as if he heard nothing.

"Hey! I want to stay. You promised."

A big hand grabbed the front of his jumpsuit, and Goodwater leaned into his face. "We are digging up somebody's child, a daughter, a sister, a friend. People are forever wounded by her absence. Your presence here dishonors her memory."

"We had a deal." He hissed.

"We had nothing." Goodwater pushed him back on the ground and walked away. A couple of agents came over and pulled him to his feet again and dragged him into a waiting jeep. Goodwater didn't turn around again to acknowledge him. Grissom walked over.

"It'll probably take us 3-4 hours to uncover her, more if there is another girl."

Goodwater stared off into the distance. "Sometimes, the pure meanness in a human soul is more than I can bear."

Grissom nodded. "Rupert, why don't you go back, get some lunch, rest a little?"

A smile pulled at one end of his mouth. "What about you, Grissom? You don't need to hang with these boys. They know their work."

"He said 87. I heard him, and I have a hunch about it." Grissom squinted in the direction of the long rock they had passed earlier.

"Have no clue what you're talking about, Bugman?"

Grissom slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Go back. I won't stay long. Just want to walk around a little."

Goodwater nodded and waved over an agent and sent him jogging off in search of a jeep.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

A crowd had gathered at Sanchez's small house. Coverage of the search on CNN had brought out curiosity seekers and those morbidly interested in the pain of others. There was also a group of parents who were missing daughters. They stood separately from the others, their grief palpable, even at a distance. Goodwater knew that they would grieve no matter the identity of the women recovered. They were in an exclusive club of people who never really slept and never really woke up. Every day was punctuated with the reality of their children's absence and the fear of what they might learn about it.

When the first girl was brought from the site, they pressed forward, anxious to see her. Goodwater was gentle but firm with them. He knew their faces, some from other crime scenes, and he made it his business to know the face and story of every child they stood vigil for. He urged them to go home, be with their families. He reminded them that there were other children at home who needed them, but still they waited.

Late afternoon came and another corpse was brought to the yard. This corpse was the most recent one; smells still emanating from her. One of the mothers broke past the tape, desperate to see this body, to know for herself if this was her girl. Goodwater waved agents away from the frantic woman and trotted after her. At the body he took her by the shoulders as she bent over the girl, and spoke softly to her. The woman slowly crumpled to the ground, and Rupert was there to help her up and to lead her to a chair.

The sun dropped to the horizon and all the colors softened. The girls had been carefully wrapped and taken to morgues in Phoenix. Goodwater looked anxiously to the horizon, but couldn't make out Grissom's form. He wanted to look for him, but the parents had stayed after the girls left. They wanted to talk to him, get any little bit of information that they could cling to. Goodwater let the other agents pack up and move on back to the motel, but he stayed as the warm shades of dusk descended in the distance. A cool desert wind blew, and the sandy soil kicked up dust swirling around their feet.

Goodwater urged the parents to move on, but they were insistent. They would stay as long as he did. In frustration, he scanned the horizon for Grissom, and finally was rewarded with the appearance of a small, dark figure. He turned and told the families to wait. Then he trotted toward the figure. As he neared, he could see that Grissom was beaten by endless day. His feet dragged and he walked with his head down.

"Hey Grissom! Beginning to worry that coyotes got you." He waved at him.

Grissom looked up briefly. Then Goodwater noticed that he was carrying something. It was a metal box. He stopped and waited for him.

"What you got there?" Goodwater was a little breathless.

Grissom looked past him at the families gathered in the distance. Then he turned to Goodwater and put the box on the ground. The two men crouched over it, and Grissom pried off the top. Inside the box, there was a large photo album. Goodwater blinked and looked at Grissom. "Is that what I think it is?"

"87 is the number of steps from the dig site to the long rock. This was buried on the north side of the rock." Grissom rubbed at the sand caking his face. Sweat mixed with the yellow sand in the wind.

"Did you open it?"

Grissom shook his head. He pushed it at Goodwater. The dusk was beginning to turn to night, but the two men were oblivious to the change. In the light of the full moon, Goodwater opened the album. He slowly turned pages. Every two pages told a story. At the top, was pasted with the license card of a girl, and underneath was cramped writing filling that page and the next. Goodwater didn't take too much time to read the words. There would be time for that, and he already knew that Robbie was recording every moment of his horror in a desperate effort to better hold the memory.

"I think he wanted to come out here with us so that he could make a mental map. He probably figured that, at some point, he would be able to get somebody to come out and retrieve his book for him." Goodwater didn't respond. He slowly turned pages and noted the IDs he found. He let out a deep breath at one. A dark haired girl smiled on her ID. He turned his head, and picked out her mother standing in the family group, tightly wrapping her jacket around her in the night.

Goodwater turned to the last page. On the top, there was an ID, but no writing accompanied it. Robbie never had the chance to write this story. He looked at Grissom who stared at the page. Then Goodwater reached in, and pulled the ID off the page.

"You and I are going to pretend we never saw this one." He handed it to Grissom.

Grissom let out a noise and licked his lips. His hands shook as he stared at Sara Sidle's work ID. With a thud, he sat back onto the desert floor. Goodwater started to say something, but stopped. It became clear that Grissom needed a little space. He got up, and let him sit there with the card in his hand, trying to settle the emotions in his throat. Then Goodwater turned and walked back toward the families. Carefully, he returned to the page of the smiling girl and walked straight for her mother.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

"You got him drunk!" Goodwater hissed into the ear of the agent standing near the door of the bar.

"Sir, I'm sorry. He was insistent. He's had 6 double scotches." The young agent winced a little at the anger on his supervisor's face.

Goodwater rolled his eyes. "You don't control his drinking, you control the bartender. Water down the drinks."

"Sorry, Sir." The agent said.

Goodwater brushed past him and went to the corner table where Grissom sat nursing a scotch. The silver in his hair was a dusty yellow with sand. Streaks of dirt ran down his neck. "How you doing there, Buddy?"

Grissom rolled his head up and nodded at Goodwater. "Sit, Rupert. Drink with me."

Goodwater signaled the waitress and sat down across from Grissom. Grissom leaned forward. "Something wrong with your agents, Rupert. They hover. Trying to drown me in soft drinks. Feel like I'm at a damn AA convention."

"You've got to be pretty dehydrated after a long day in the sun. I'm sure they are just trying to watch out for you."

Grissom growled at him. "I can take care of myself. Always have." He unfolded his hand. In it was Sara's ID. "This is her, Rupert. This is the girl I would risk everything for."

Rupert looked at the picture. "She looks serious."

Grissom sighed. "Yeah, she was probably angry when this picture was taken. I probably said something stupid. I do that a lot around her."

Rupert smiled. "Bugman is in love."

Grissom stared past Goodwater into the distance. "What would I have done if he'd succeeded? She could have been one of those bodies."

"Now hold on there, Grissom. She was too smart, too strong. It was no twist of fate that she made it."

"Yeah." He let out breath.

"Grab her and hold on, Grissom. You've been bit bad. I've seen it before. Nothing to do but surrender."

"It's complicated. She's been through a lot. She's healing. Might not need me when she's done. We work together—"

"Stop it. You just don't know what you're talking about, son."

Grissom chuckled. "I haven't been anyone's son in awhile."

"I got a story for you."

"What kind of story?" Grissom scratched at his beard.

"It's a 'Grissom doesn't know shit about complicated' story. Listen up."

Grissom dropped his face in his hands. "Please!"

Goodwater chuckled, "You want to know how I met my wife?"

The hands shook Grissom's head back and forth. Goodwater ignored him. "She was an informant when I was the Jersey state police; a call girl whose boyfriend was a major crack dealer in the Trenton area."

Grissom raised his head out of his hands.

"I used her to get information. She was a beautiful girl; smart, brave, funny. She had a determination that amazed me. Probably in love with her then, but didn't pay attention. Sucked her for all the information I could and then put her right back out on the streets." Goodwater took a long draw off his beer. "He found out she snitched and had her beaten bad; 6 broken bones, she was in traction for a month. I went to see her, and I can't explain it, but I fell for her. I fell hard. She wouldn't talk to me though and I figured that this was my due for treating her as I did. I quit Jersey police, joined the FBI, and figured I would never see her again."

Grissom's weary blue eyes followed Goodwater. "About three years later, I ran into her by accident when she was at the federal courthouse. She wouldn't talk to me still, but I followed her. She was living at a halfway house. Been through drug treatment 3 times. She looked worn, bitter, but I couldn't help myself." He signaled the waitress for another round. "I came to that house every day for months, but she wouldn't look at me. Finally one day, she's out on the stoop waiting for me. Says she's going to graduate the program in a week. Says that I can be friends with her if I help her get into college."

Goodwater chuckled into his longneck. Grissom waited patiently. "For three years, she lived out of a room in a house. Went to school and studied. That's all. Only would see me for a meal on Sunday. It was crazy, but somehow it made sense to me. I paid her rent, I paid for school, and, in return, she fed me Chef Boyardee on Sundays. My girl is not a cook. Then she graduates, and invites me to the ceremony. Afterwards, she walked me over to her favorite professor and introduces me as the man she's going to marry." Goodwater rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I will never forget that feeling. Hadn't even kissed her up to that point, but I was ready to marry her. I'm almost cried right in front of her teacher. Grissom, you don't know complicated." Goodwater leaned back in his chair and drained the bottle just as she placed another one before him. "Well?"

"I concede that you have the corner on complicated." Grissom nodded over his drink.

An agent came up and whispered something in Goodwater's ear. A big smile broke out on his face. Grissom arched an eyebrow. "Your girls want to talk to you?"

"Something like that, Bugman." Goodwater scraped back his chair and got up. He put his meaty hands on the table and leaned forward. "The course of true love never did run smooth."

Grissom looked up with blurry eyes. "William Shakespeare." Goodwater grinned and walked away. Grissom dropped his head again, and held onto the highball glass with both hands. Exhaustion and emotions competed for his attention, but he shook his head angrily and hung on. The numbing effect of the scotch was going to leave him soon in favor of the cold reality of a raging headache and a choked heart. He was desperate to stave it off for as long as possible.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see one of the waitresses staring at him. She was dark and tall, and her hair hung to her shoulders like Sara. He turned his head to get a better look but she was gone. Then behind him, a pair of hands dropped onto his shoulders and squeezed. He stiffened at the invasion, but an unmistakable voice whispered into his ear. "Hey Griss."

He sucked in his breath in. Arms enveloped his chest, and he drank in the familiar smells of her hair. "Sara?" He croaked.

She dropped into the chair beside him; beautiful Sara with a smile on her face, her brown hair shiny, long arms folded across her chest. She looked amazing.

"How? Where?"

She couldn't corral her grin. "I saw you on T.V. this morning, and I went to take a walk. When I came back, my bags were packed, and Danny was standing there with a plane ticket to Arizona and a car to the airport."

He smiled and shook his head. "I can't believe this."

She bit her lip. "You're happy to see me?"

He let out a deep breath and looked down into his drink for a moment. He thought carefully before he spoke. "Don't ever leave me again. Please."

Silence settled between them. She reached over and took his hand. He shifted to face her, and her ID slid off the table. He grabbed at it, but it clattered to the ground. Sara reached over and picked it up. She looked at it, taking time to run her fingers over it.

Grissom gently took it from her. "I didn't mean for you to see this."

"Robbie Sanchez had it?"

He nodded.

"Give it back, Griss."

"Sara, it's a reminder—"

She placed her hand firmly over his. "It's a reminder of how I persevered."

His weary blue eyes found hers. "You're better?"

She caressed his face softly. "I'm getting better, and I have new rules to follow when it comes to taking care of myself."

"Oh." He nodded. His eyes watered and he looked away. Sara steered his face back to hers. "I'm drunk." He said in explanation.

"Let's get you to bed." She tried to pull him to his feet.

"Sara?" He stumbled to his feet. She reached around his torso to steady him. "Sara? Do you still…like me?"

She laughed and squeezed him around the middle. "I love you, Griss."

He pulled her tightly into a hug and sloppily kissed her neck. For a minute, they stood there, Grissom rocking them back and forth. Finally, he spoke into her neck, "I love you, Sara." She whimpered softly into his hair.

"Come on, big guy." She said when she could speak. She pulled him toward the door. In the corner on a bar stool sat Rupert Goodwater. He picked up his bottle and toasted Grissom as they passed. Grissom smiled.

Sara pulled him out into the cool night air. The moon shone brightly and Sara wanted to laugh at how good life felt in that moment.

"Hey, did you see Rupert? He was sitting at the bar." He mumbled into her shoulder as she guided him to the motel.

"I met him when I got here. Seems like a good guy."

"He has kids, adopted ones from China. They are adorable. Ever thought of getting a couple of kids?"

"Huh?" She wore a confused look. "I never knew you thought about kids."

"I'm just saying that he swears by them. Says it is the best thing he ever did."

She laughed. "Well, that's a mighty fine recommendation, Griss. We'll have to talk about it sometime."

He leaned into her and let her guide him into his room.

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

TBC


	21. chapter 21

I am finished! I will miss this so much! What a wonderful way to decompress after a hard day of work. I have looked forward to writing every day of the last 6 weeks. And I have put off so many other important projects in favor of this delicious diversion.

Unbearable seems so long ago now. I have much more hope for GSR now, and am counting days until they show Committed. Perhaps, they will grow together as we have wished. In the meantime, we must content ourselves with sharing our own versions of their story.

Thanks to all of you who read Afraid of The Light, and a special thanks to all of you who took the time to review. It brings such joy to my day to think that someone enjoys something I do. As you exit this story, please let me know what you think. After each story, I vow to never do another, but I always jump right back in. This time, I won't make that promise, and, hopefully, I can find a less consuming way to integrate it into my life. Thanks for riding along with me.

Sheila

**Afraid of the Light **

**Chapter 21**

Nick stood away from the truck with his hands on his hips. A conglomeration of boards and metal fittings crammed the back of his pickup. Warrick stood beside him in a t-shirt and jeans. Nick turned to him. "This is not going to work."

Warrick shook his head. "I don't know."

Brass appeared from around the front and clapped his hands. "Okay people, let's get this unloaded."

Nick turned his head and fixed him with a glare. "And you'll be doing what?"

Brass squinted in the bright morning sun. He scratched the back of his neck. "Supervising."

"How's that? This Trojan horse is your idea. War and I don't even think it's going to work." Nick folded his arms and waited.

"Come on, guys. Where's your imagination?"

"I think we lost it somewhere along the road in southern Nevada." Warrick growled.

"Do we even have permission to do this?" Nick asked.

"Hell, yes." Brass looked off into the distance. "Wouldn't drag it 10 hours away from Vegas if we didn't, would we?"

Warrick looked at Nicky. Both of them doubted that Brass had talked to anyone about his little scheme. He tended to lose eye contact when he answered questions about this part of the plan.

Warrick finally sighed. "We drove all night. Let's at least get some breakfast before we do this."

"No time. Come on! Let's get this together. Afterwards, I'll buy the first round."

"Brass, it is 8:00 in the morning."

"No problem. We'll start with lite beer." Brass started walking ahead, waving them down the sidewalk. Nick reluctantly hoisted a large plank onto his shoulder; Warrick grabbed the other end and followed him.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

Jack had been yelling at the back of Sam's head for the last half hour yet she sat calmly reading the in flight magazine. Occasionally Danny would lean over and say something to make her laugh. In the seat behind them, Jack sat pretending to do the work he brought. He had insisted that he take the seat alone; claimed that he needed to catch up on work.

But he didn't work. Instead he kept up a running litany of concerns that he directed at Sam. The fact that it all happened inside his head was the only concession he allowed to this craziness. Anxiety stabbed at his gut. He shouldn't have asked her, and she, sure as hell, shouldn't have said yes. But she deserved to go, and so he did and then she did and now they were on a plane.

His default plan was to act as sour and distant as possible. It helped that Danny was there to keep her distracted. It seemed counter to the purpose of the journey, but he knew no other way to get out of this weekend with a shred of dignity.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

Goodwater held a bottle of vodka in his big hand and waved it menacingly at the proprietor. "None of the cheap stuff. I better not find one plastic bottle in any of these boxes. Also, I want the vodka to be Russian, the bourbon to be from Kentucky, the gin to be from Great Britain, and so on. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." The small, balding man nodded vigorously.

Goodwater didn't relax his glare. Instead, he reached into a box and pulled out a bottle of rum. "Here's an example. The maker on this rum is Anderson. Anderson is a Scandinavian name. They do not make rum. Do you understand?"

"But—"

"I don't care what the bottle says. Good rum doesn't get made in Norway or Minnesota."

The man nodded weakly.

"And another thing, I don't see any umbrellas. We need little umbrellas and fruit and stuff for the punches. We're not longshore men drinking out in the parking lot. This is a celebration. Festive! Do you understand?" Goodwater stood over him scowling.

"Sir, we could re-negotiate the price."

"We will not!" Already what I am paying you is grounds for litigation. Now you just turn around and put these boxes back on the truck, and go get me the good stuff."

The man didn't move.

Goodwater whipped out his badge and stopped it inches from the man's face. Everyone froze for a moment. Then the man swallowed hard and snapped his fingers. Behind him, workers jumped to their feet. He barked orders and the boxes were hurriedly shoved back into the truck. Goodwater gave him a generous smile and waved heartily as the truck backed out of the drive.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

Grissom's head pounded. He opened his eyes, but was assaulted by the harsh light of the morning. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut again. His mouth was sticky dry, and he wondered how much work it would take to get to the bathroom and stick his mouth under the faucet. After a few minutes, he realized that the act of dreaming about it alone

wouldn't sate his thirst.

Something tugged at him and he tried to remember the events of the night previous. Images of Robbie and Sara's ID and grieving parents and Goodwater in love with hookers swirled about in his head. The image of Sara filtered to the front, and he sat upright. Forcing his aching eyes open, he looked around the room. It was clear that he was alone. A sense of deep disappointment descended on him until he spotted the travel bag sitting on the other bed. It was definitely not his bag. He put his hand to his forehead and tried to organize his thoughts. He remembered her in the bar. He remembered hugging and kissing her. He remembered that she wore an achingly beautiful smile.

He leaned over to the left and spied himself in the mirror. A blurry man with a smudged face, red eyes, and hair smashed to one side of his head stared back at him. It struck him that a version of this was the image she had been treated to last night when she arrived. The thought of it horrified him. Something sounded at the door and he sat back. Light flooded the room as the door opened and she walked in carrying plastic bags. Seeing him up brought a smile to her face. "Hey Sunshine, how are you feeling?"

Embarrassment filled his gut and he looked down. "I guess I made quite a fool of myself last night, didn't I?"

She chuckled. "You were a mess alright, but you're my mess and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Her words warmed him and he found that he was relaxing. "What did you buy?"

She began pulling items out of the bags. "I brought an entire hangover relief system. We have some water and juice. A take out breakfast of eggs, bacon, and hash browns, eggs over easy just like you like them. And I bought you some ibuprofen. I bet you have a monster headache."

He wanted to tell her that she was the only hangover cure he needed, but his vulnerable state left him feeling stiff and formal. Instead he took the pills she gave him and greedily drank from the water bottle she handed him.

"Feel up to a shower?"

He nodded. The awkwardness of it hit him. He was sitting in a small place with the woman he loved while at his worst. He was dirty and sick and could barely communicate. A situation like this sat outside his locus of control. He had no idea how to let her take care of him. He stayed rooted in the bed. "Sorry, I put you through all of this. If you just give me half an hour…."

She climbed on the bed next to him. He tried to not shrink away. She watched all of this and sat back. He waited for the words of recrimination, proof that he was incapable of what he so desired. The hurt feelings, the walking away, slamming of doors, the self loathing, the vow he would make to never hurt her again; he waited for all of that. But it never came.

She reached over and held his hand. "I see you're going into your 'I am a rock. I am an island' routine. Its Emmy caliber, I promise you, but I want you to know that it isn't going to work. You love me and I love you. This star-crossed shit is getting old and we have spent too many years doing it."

He raised his face to look at her.

She smiled. "Grissom, you look like hell. My grandpa would have said that your eyes look like two piss holes in the snow. But I'm not going anywhere. I need you and you need me. So I suggest you get up out of this bed and into the shower so I don't have to sit here with my nose all wrinkled up every time a breeze blows my way."

He chuckled. "God knows I don't deserve this." He still didn't move.

She reached a hand under the covers and pinched his thigh. He yelped. "Out of the bed. Now!" She pushed him over the side and he landed with a thud.

"Jesus, Sara! My head!"

"Will be the least of your problems if you don't get some of that grime off you." She lunged at him as he scrambled to his feet and into the bathroom. She smiled as the bathroom door closed. She hoped that it was the beginning of something new. She wasn't going to worry about his fears or hers. She knew him and she knew what she wanted, and that's what she was going to trust. That was what she would use to shape their relationship now.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

Nicky stood hip deep in the pool while Warrick handed him pieces of board. Brass looked on critically, his arms folded across his chest. Nick ignored all of his suggestions, and was assembling it by guesswork. Even Warrick knew better than to offer his thoughts. The only salvation was a six pack of Corona already stuffed with limes sitting on the edge of the pool. Nick's surliness was curtailed by its proximity.

"Hey Jimmie!" Came a roar from the other side of the pool. They all turned to find a tall, stocky man striding towards them with a big grin. Warrick stepped back as he swept past him and engulfed Brass in a bear hug. For a moment, Nick forgot his numerous complaints and watched the reunion with a grin on his face. Brass wrestled himself away from the big man and stood back with a smile. "Rupert, you old dog! Just as ugly as you ever were."

Goodwater slapped him on the back. "We're going to do it up like the old days, you and I."

Brass chuckled. He nodded at his friends. "This is Agent Rupert Goodwater of the FBI. He and I are old friends."

"Jimmie and I were partners way back in the beginning; beat cops in Trenton. Don't what was more dangerous, the perps themselves or the idea of us being responsible for anybody's public safety."

"How's things, Rupert?"

He shook his head. "They're getting meaner, Jimmie. No doubt about it. Takes a little bit more of my soul every time."

Brass nodded.

"All in all though, I'm a lucky man. My girls are my life and they keep me in working order. Without that, I don't think I would be here."

"Did you take care of that little matter we spoke about a week ago?"

"Did my best. He's a little rough for wear but I think he got the message."

"Speaking of whom—"

"Room door is closed, and I, sure as hell, am not going to be the one to interrupt."

"What in God's name!" A portly man with a beard came running out of the motel office, his bleach blonde wife trotting along after.

"Jimmie, you did talk to the man?" Goodwater arched his brows.

"Yeah, sort of. We had something of a global conversation about what we were allowed to do with the rented pool. I gave him a sort of abstract understanding of the situation." He shrugged. "I figure that the truth of the matter would be easier to swallow once it was already in the water."

"I think he's choking on your truth." Goodwater observed. The owner and his wife were at the pool's edge abusing Nick as he stood there surrounded by a half built structure. Brass waded into the fray with his arms up, and herded the owners over to a table. Nicky climbed out of the pool, mumbling threats at Brass under his breath, grabbed the six pack and stalked off in search of a shaded table. Warrick shook his head and followed Nick.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Grissom felt like he was going to burst. His head was feeling better, and the water, food, and shower had all but erased any of the earlier signs of hangover. But his physical pain was replaced with an emotional discomfort. He was sitting stiffly in the chair by the window dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. He had made several overtures about going to the lab and checking on his maggot samples. Despite the fact that he was essentially done, and that the processing was over, he wanted to be there, to have her in an environment where they were both familiar. They could talk evidence instead of feelings. But she was oblivious to his suggestions, and had busied herself with her own shower. When she had emerged from the bathroom with nothing but a towel on her wet, lithe body, he had almost jumped out of his skin. He made some noises about taking a walk, giving her some time to dress and do her hair, but she very quietly and firmly told him to sit his ass back down and wait. She grabbed some clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. Things got very quiet, and she finally emerged in the same towel. She looked less certain then, chewing on her bottom lip as she crossed the room. She stopped before him, and swallowed hard. "Guess I wasn't so ready to get dressed." Her eyes were watering. She shifted from foot to foot awkwardly. "When we were last together in a motel room, you said that we weren't ready. You felt my ribs, sensed my trauma, my disturbance."

All breath fled his body. "Sara, we have all the time in the world. We should take this slow."

Her eyes traveled along the wall behind him. "So we should wait until we know each other better, right?"

He shook his head in frustration. "No, Sara, I am not trying to push you away. It's just that I don't want to rush you. You've been through so—"

Holding the towel around her with one hand, she reached over with the other and covered his mouth. "Stop, please. I know what's best for me. I know what I want and what I need." Her hand reached under to cup his chin. "I know what will help me heal. I know I can trust you."

The smell of bar soap on her arm left him breathy. He could see every freckle on her bare, scrubbed face. Her eyes shone dark like onyx. He was going to reach for her when she dropped the towel. She stepped back and stood before him, naked. His breath caught and he let out a soft noise. There she stood before him as bare and beautiful as he had always imagined. She slid her hand across her stomach stopping at her midriff. "Grissom, come here. See how strong I am. Feel for my ribs."

Grissom didn't know if his legs could support his weight. Tears rolled down her face, but she didn't budge. She stood there, staring at him, trembling slightly but unashamed by her bare skin. Awkwardly, he pulled himself to his feet and reached for her. The courage she showed choked him and he was incapable of a verbal response. Slowly, he put a trembling hand on her stomach and lightly traced the skin around her middle. She closed her eyes and moaned. Abruptly he pulled her to him, hugging her as fiercely as he dared. For a long time, they stood like this, falling into a common rhythm of breath, him stroking her hair as she quietly wept. "Grissom," she whispered. "Loving you helps me grow stronger."

He searched her eyes for doubts, anything that might betray her words, but her frank stare was pure. He took her by the hand and guided her over to the bed. She lay down and looked up at him. He saw nothing but trust in her eyes, and it touched him as nothing ever had. He peeled off his t-shirt and shed his pants. He climbed onto the bed beside her and pulled her face to his, pushing her wet, brown locks off her face. "I plan to take my time here, Sara Sidle. They say it is possible to stretch time if you want it desperately enough and there is no man better prepared to test that theory than I am."

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Sam gave Nick a big hug, and he picked her up, twirling her around. Jack felt a twinge of annoyance and looked away. Goodwater and Brass were striding toward him, shouting greetings and good natured abuse in his direction. He smiled and let them distract him.

The somewhat mollified motel owner stood off to the side, arms folded tightly across his chest keeping watch on the activities in the pool. Warrick was in the water now finishing their project. Danny ambled over to the edge, his suit coat draped over his arm. Warrick started to razz him. Danny threw back comment for comment. He finally slung his bag over his shoulder and looked for an open room. He returned in a few minutes in a pair of swim trunks and a t-shirt. The scars from his wound peeked out the collar of his tee, but it was clear that he was no prisoner to those memories. He climbed in and waded over to where Warrick was working and reached for a plank. The liquor man had returned and was warily unloading bottles under the watchful eyes of a couple of agents.

Catherine and Greg arrived from the airport still fresh after the short fifty minute flight. Catherine saw Warrick up to his waist in water, and threw back her head letting loose a throaty chortle. Warrick reached down into the water, and sent water flying in her direction. Greg handed Catherine his bag, pulled his shirt off and did a cannonball into the water. A drenched Danny and Warrick cursed heartily at him.

Goodwater clapped his hands when a group of Mexican American women showed up with trays and trays of food. He waved them over to banquet tables set up over at the far end of the pool. He barked at agents and they trotted after the women, offering to take the heavy trays from them.

He was interrogating another agent about the arrival of a mariachi band when a little voice screamed, 'Daddy'. Goodwater twirled around to see two little girls running toward him. He leaned over and scooped them up into his arms. A pretty blonde woman who was beginning to lose her chin followed behind. Goodwater reached his face forward and kissed his wife. His girls were talking simultaneously at him, tugging at his face in an effort to capture his attention. He gently put them back down and let them chatter as they held onto his hands. "Hey Sweetie. I'm so tickled that you came."

She smiled, the lines at the edges of her eyes mapping her life's journeys. Goodwater treasured every crease on his wife as he knew how hard fought each of them were. "Rupert, you got to find me a couple of beds. These two need a nap before they are capable of being around company."

"You sure, darlin'? They look bright eyed to me."

His oldest child tugged on his sleeve. "Daddy, where are the balloons? How can you have a party without balloons?"

"Well, honey, I don't know. I guess I didn't think about it."

"Daddy!" Tears sprang to the corners of her eyes. "What kind of party doesn't have balloons?"

Rupert looked up in surprise. His wife chuckled. "They're as high strung as couple of divas on opening night. Let me put them down."

His little girl burst into sobs. "There are no balloons!"

"Its okay, Pumpkin. Don't worry. Balloons are on their way. Just a little late, baby. You go with Mommy. I'll see to it."

The inconsolable child was led off by her mother. Goodwater looked around and stabbed a finger at an agent. The man trotted over. "We don't have balloons. We need balloons."

The young man cocked his head. "Balloons, Sir?"

"Balloons! What the hell kind of party doesn't have balloons?"

The agent looked puzzled. "Where am I going to find balloons?"

Goodwater put a hand on his shoulder. "Son, the federal government spent roughly 50,000 training you how to be a crackpot investigator. If you can't scare up a passel of balloons in this town, then we just wasted a chunk of the U.S. taxpayer's hard earned dollars."

The young man nodded and trotted off to the motel office.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

They were both sticky with sweat. He reached over and wiped away droplets that gathered on her upper lip. His gesture caused her to smile. "You okay, Sara?"

"I've always known that you would be an amazing lover." She stretched out on the bed beside him on her side, every inch of skin exposed to him.

"Really?" A smile tugged at his lips. He placed a hand on her raised hip and let it glide to the valley of her waist. There he gripped her possessively.

She leaned into him, resting one hand on his chest. "You and me together, Gris; it feels right. And we're going to make this work. Understand?"

He nodded. He traced a soft line from her waist up between her breasts and then captured her face. He pulled her toward him. He kissed her sweetly on the lips and then moved down to bury his face in her neck. For a minute he just rested there, letting their competing rhythms merge. Then he raised his face to hers. "I want you to come to bed with me every night, and I want to pull you to me every morning when I wake." She softly massaged his curls. "I realize that there should be steps to all of this, but, thus far, you and I have defied convention at every turn." He stopped and considered his next statement. "All I know for sure, Sara, is that you are my only chance at living a real life; my only chance at happiness."

She reached in to kiss him when his cell phone erupted on the nightstand. He looked at her apologetically. "I suspect that Rupert is getting a little impatient. I am sure there are things we should wrap up." He picked up the phone and was greeted by a booming voice. "Yes, Rupert….I am feeling better. Thanks for letting me sleep in….no lab work today….by the pool….a meeting….okay?...why shorts?...Oh, it's that hot….Well, Sara might just want to rest. She was in and out of planes all day yesterday….Well, I don't know that I want her to have to look over any evidence. We can do this without her." Grissom's voice started to rise. "….What?..." Grissom got quiet and Sara noted that his eyes widened a little while he listened. "Uh, okay, Rupert, I guess we'll come to your meeting."

"Sorry sweetie. Time to get up. Rupert needs your analysis of something."

"What's that?" She wrinkled her brow in confusion.

"Uh, well, it's hard to explain. Um, just wear shorts, tank, you know, we'll be working outside." Grissom started digging through his luggage.

"Well, what if I want to nap?" She sat up, pulling the sheet up with her.

"Yeah, well, I told him you were only going to be able to help for a few minutes."

"No, you didn't. I heard every word you said."

"Um, it was implied." Grissom pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts.

"Grissom!"

He stopped and looked at her. "Trust me, honey. It's a meeting that I think you will want to attend."

She looked at him for a moment and then crawled out from under the covers. His breath caught again as she walked by him naked and it was all he could do to finish buttoning his shorts. She pulled out a white cotton tank and a pair of jean shorts. "Your Rupert isn't getting anything more formal than this."

"Well, I am sure he will be just fine with that."

"Good! He has half an hour. Then I am going to buy a swimsuit and lay by the pool all day. Understand?"

He grinned. "You just put your foot down, Honey. He'll have no choice but to let you have your way."

She followed him out of the room, and even though the pool was around the corner, it was clear that there was a great deal of noise coming from that direction. She gave him a puzzled look and he shrugged. He reached down and took her hand in his. She looked at him, and he smiled back. "You want to walk into this meeting holding hands?"

"Yup." He replied.

The chaos was too much to hide. They turned the corner, and there were people everywhere. Agents wearing swim trunks and sunglasses were lounging in chairs with drinks in their hands. A large buffet groaning under the weight of food was at the far end. And suddenly, Sara became aware of familiar faces. All of them came toward her smiling and laughing. It was both exhilarating and overwhelming. Grissom tightened his grip on her hand. She accepted hugs and kisses from all directions.

Goodwater's voice boomed above the rest. "Miss Sara, we thought we would build you a Mexican vacation."

She looked to Grissom in confusion. He smiled and pointed at Jack Malone. Jack put his arm around her shoulder and whispered into her ear. "Do you remember a promise I made to you?"

She cocked her head to look at him.

"And there's really no way to get everyone to Mexico so Goodwater, Brass, and I thought we would bring Mexico to you."

She smiled. "This is very sweet, Jack."

"Come with me." He led her through the crowd to the pool. In the middle of the shallow end stood a bar, haphazardly put together. Inside stood a rather bewildered bartender in up to his waist, wearing Hawaiian shorts and mixing rum drinks. People in swimwear and some in full clothing, all stood around it hip deep drinking or waiting for a drink. "Remember how I told you that a few days at a pool with a bar in the middle would solve everything?"

She nodded.

"Well, we're improvising here, and we only have one day, but I figure life is all about seizing joy wherever you can find it. So I plan on making my Mexican vacation at my luxury hotel happen right here. Want to join me?"

Tears stung her eyes, but the wide smile on her face offset her emotion. "Sounds amazing, Jack."

"Okay, Sara, there is only one rule. If you want a drink, you have to wade out and get it yourself. Half the fun is watching some of the newer agents who didn't bring anything casual figure out how to get themselves a beer."

"It's wonderful, Jack."

"This day is yours, Sara. People are here because they admire your courage and love you. Families can bury their daughters because of you. Robbie Sanchez and Hatfield Corcoran are staring at bare cinderblock because of you."

She nodded, unable to respond verbally.

"Have fun today, Sara. We brought Mexico to you, and, by God, we found you a pool with a bar in it."

She kissed his stubbly cheek. "Here's hoping your dreams come true. Mine have."

For a while it was a whirl of hugging people and shaking hands, some from folks she had never met before. But Grissom stayed with her every moment, and eventually found her a poolside lounge. So she sat and watched the party build around her. She ate tamales and enchiladas slathered in guacamole, and drank a liter of water.

Little girls with jet black hair wearing pink swimsuits littered with pictures of Malibu Barbie appeared, screaming about parties and balloons. Goodwater was entranced with their every movement, even climbing in the water in his jeans and tossing them around for awhile. When he tired, Danny took over and kept the girls squealing in delight into the late afternoon. Rupert retired to a chaise lounge next to his wife and they sat in a companionable silence, watching their children live life to its fullest.

Nick and Warrick set up a Texas hold 'em tournament at a table, setting up arcane rules such as one tequila shot for every hand folded. They lured young agents over to play and sported a house win percentage that the gaming commission would have found mighty suspicious. Later, Nicky reported that it was like shooting fish in a barrel. As the afternoon turned to early evening, Nicky and Warrick closed up shop and used the proceeds to restock the bar.

Jack sat on the edge of the pool, dangling his feet in the water and drinking whatever dark beer was available. As the afternoon wore on, he became less subtle about his interest in the beautiful blonde in the white string bikini. Sam split her time between Nicky's poker table and Danny's day care. She had given Jack space as he had radiated Irish tragic all day long. Early evening came and she finally waded over to him with a dark beer peace offering in hand. He leaned over and stroked her blonde hair. His touch was gripped her in her gut, and she stayed rooted to that spot. Slowly, he lowered himself into the pool, and pulled her into his arms. He hugged her tightly and whispered apologies into her ear. She looped her arms around his neck and rested there. They whispered back and forth for a long time, and then Jack led her to the shallow end steps. Holding his hand, she followed him out and they disappeared around the corner to one of the many rooms rented for this special event.

Greg dragged a chair over to Sara and sat there for much of the afternoon holding her other hand. From time to time, they shared memories of each other. They laughed about his efforts to date her. She tried to detect for a sadness in him, but only found mutual affection over their shared experiences. She quietly told him that she would need his support and friendship when she was ready to return to work. He squeezed her hand and promised that he would be there for whatever she needed.

Brass and Catherine found a bottle of Jameson whiskey, and confiscated it. They sat at a table, sipping it and commenting on the circus around them. Catherine kept an eye on the poker table, and mumbled pointed statements about Warrick's inattention. When they table closed, Warrick made a beeline in her direction with a smile on his face. Brass arched his bushy brows, but said nothing as Warrick pulled her out of her chair and suggested a long walk. The whiskey took her edge and she found herself responding with a bright smile instead of the sulking she had planned as the start to their interaction.

Once abandoned, Brass came over to corral Grissom for a game of cards. Grissom balked, insistent that he was happy just sitting next to Sara, but she pushed him away and sent him off to play. Goodwater and his wife joined them, and soon they were engaged in a brutal Hearts tournament. Sara rolled over onto her side and felt herself drifting off.

………………………………………………………………………………………

Hours later, someone gently nudged her shoulder. Her eyes opened to a very different scene. It was night and the lights around the pool brought a soft glow to the darkness. Around her were lounge chairs filled with drunk and sleeping agents. Goodwater was shaking shoulders and trying to get them off to their rooms. A cleaning crew was silently picking up trash and packing up food. She turned her head at the sound of voices and saw Nicky arguing with the motel manager about the makeshift bar. From what she could make out, Nicky had some particular ideas about the care with which it was dismantled. He had clearly grown attached to his reluctant project.

A hand brushed her hair behind her ears. She turned her head and smiled at him sitting next to her on the lounge chair.

"Ready to go to bed, Honey?"

She nodded and let him pull her to her feet. He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed, pulling her to him. Like this they weaved their way down the sidewalk to their room. Like all new lovers, touching each other was intoxicating. They undressed together, and climbed in bed on top of one another like a couple of puppies. There were no words left for the day. Only two people exploring each other, touching, kissing, sharing, making love until sleep caught up with them. And then they lay together, legs tangled together, one body molded to another, breathing together, content in their completion of one another.

The End


End file.
